


Unlucky Omens

by HolyCatsAndRabbits



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: AU- Animal Shelter, AU- human, BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is soft for animals, Curses, Fake dating for like two minutes, Father Layne returns, Gay Character, Genderfluid Character, Guardian Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), Happy Ending, Human Crowley (Good Omens), Looking like that?, M/M, Other, Pansexual Character, Popularity Contest, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Summoning Circles, ace characters, animals are soft for Crowley, based on an AU sketch, clever Aziraphale (Good Omens), clever Crowley (Good Omens), content warning: Gabriel, even though one is an angel and one is human I promise a happy eternally after ending, formal wear, nb character, wacky misadventures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:33:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 34,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24074503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolyCatsAndRabbits/pseuds/HolyCatsAndRabbits
Summary: When Anthony Crowley finally gets a Guardian Angel at the age of 48, he thinks perhaps that his lifelong streak of bad luck is ending. Until he learns that in three months, he’s destined to either save the world or die trying. It doesn’t help that the angel Aziraphale is the most beautiful person Crowley has ever seen, as well as a ridiculous, fussy, rebellious hedonist. Crowley’s not surprised to find himself falling for him. After all, it’s just one more bit of bad luck to fancy your Guardian Angel.Based on asketch by lillee.nika, who graciously gave me permission to write this. Also relevant was the comment: “What kind of horrible thing would Crowley need to be in to have a guardian angel?” to which Lillee.nika answered, “Let's say he has trouble finding luck.” The comments also mentioned that Crowley would at some point get himself in trouble in order to see his Guardian Angel. Thank you for this, Lillee.nika, and I hope you like it!AND have no fear, our duo will have a happy eternally after, I promise. <3
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Dagon (Good Omens)
Comments: 595
Kudos: 383
Collections: Good Omens AUs, Good Omens Celebration





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that some characters’ gender identities, gender expressions, and sexualities differ from canon in this AU. No disrespect is meant, they are just different people/entities in this AU. I will say that just about everybody is (still) queer, and Beez is still a they/them. 
> 
> The M rating is for one smut scene in Chapter 7 that can be skipped, if that’s not your thing. Otherwise we’d be at a T rating, mostly for language.
> 
> Thank you to the Good Omens Celebration mods for hosting this event!

“What the everliving _fuck_ is going on?” Crowley asked, rather absently, forgetting he was on the phone.

Tracy Shadwell’s voice came through against Crowley’s ear. “Anthony, language.”

“Sorry, Mom. It’s just, I’m up on this roof, and—” 

“What the everliving _fuck_ are you doing on a roof?” his mother demanded. “You know better than that!”

“It’s my job.”

“Your job is to take care of animals.”

“Yeah, and sometimes cats get stuck on roofs. Anyway, the weirdest thing is happening right now. There’s this huge flock of birds swooping around, like the sky is actually dark with them, and it almost looks like they’re making geometric patterns or something. And I can see down to some woods and there are animals everywhere— rabbits, squirrels, foxes, deer. It’s so loud, can you hear that? Does this mean we’re going to get an earthquake?”

Tracy was silent on the phone for a few seconds.

“Mom?”

“It’s your birthday,” she said finally.

Crowley lifted his ever-present sunglasses as the sky continued to get darker, an eclipse of birds over his head. The wind had picked up as well, and Crowley was almost cold standing there in the sunshine. “I am aware,” he said. “You started this call with _Happy Birthday.”_

Tracy’s voice was honey-smooth, as it always was when she got like this, as if she were absolutely sure of herself. “It’s just— you’re 48 today, you know, four twelves, and those are highly significant numbers, not to mention, you were born on the summer solstice—”

“Oh, Mom, not again.”

Tracy mumbled to herself. “What time is it?” Crowley could hear her earring jangling against the mouthpiece. “Anthony, you know, this is the exact moment of your birth, 10:02 a.m.”

“Well, I guess the whole Earth is celebrating then.”

Tracy’s voice came back full volume. “Sweetheart, I know you don’t believe this shit, but I’m telling you, when I was pregnant with you there were signs like this all the time. Birds, deer, cats and dogs. Bugs, so many bugs. Weird weather, flowers everywhere—”

“Yeah, well, there’s a cat here for me to rescue right now,” Crowley reminded her. “Thanks for the call, Mom, I love you very much. Cast a tarot reading and let me know what it says.”

His mother sighed. “I love you too, my poor idiot child. Land well when you fall off the roof, all right?”

“Always.” Crowley ended the call and stood for a few more seconds looking at the animals gathered at the edge of the woods. Eventually, the noise of birds started to lessen, and the day got brighter again. Crowley replaced his sunglasses. He couldn’t go too long without the eye protection, and at least they were cooler than a set of goggles.

It had been a good birthday so far. Iced coffee (hot coffee was too dangerous) and a frosted donut with sprinkles for breakfast. And then a phone call from the shelter telling him about the cat on the roof of an office building, followed by a birthday call from Crowley’s mother while he walked to work. 

The thing was— Crowley had a strange feeling. He’d woken up with it, had sat with it at the breakfast table, had walked along with it all morning. Well before the weird animal stuff, which made everything seem a little more surreal. 

Crowley didn’t get visions, glimpses of the future, even with a mother who owned six decks of tarot cards. He did his best, after all, not to believe his mother when she was on her well-intentioned BS. But today— it just felt like something was going to happen, like the day was empty, expectant, and something was going to come along to fill it. It wasn’t a terribly comfortable feeling, but comfort wasn’t something Crowley was all that used to. Over the years, he had learned to become comfortable being uncomfortable.

Maybe they were due an earthquake. Maybe— maybe something _else._

Crowley shifted his attention to the little orange cat who had perched itself on a vent above him. “Come on, love,” he said. “You don’t want to be up here if there’s going to be a catastrophe. You especially don’t want to be up here with _me,_ I promise you that. So let’s go. You’ll get meals and a roof over your head at the shelter and we’ll get you into a home as quick as we can, all right?”

Crowley took another step toward the cat.

There shouldn’t have been an icy spot on the roof. It was the first day of summer, well above freezing. In retrospect, Crowley guessed that an air conditioner in the offices below had broken down, leaving a slick of frozen water right in Crowley’s path. It didn’t matter what it was, of course, there was always a BLT. That was an acronym that Crowley had developed in childhood, so it was a childish phrase. It didn’t mean a sandwich. It was the _Bad Luck Thing._ The Thing that always happened to Crowley. Everywhere, everytime.

So Crowley slipped on an icy patch in 70-degree weather, and despite the fact that he had made sure to stand far from the edge of the roof, there appeared to be a little slant there, right where the ice was, of course, and Crowley lost his footing. He had time to guess what the injury would be this time—the roof was only two stories high, and surrounded by grass. So probably a sprained ankle. Crowley did know how to fall properly, he’d had 48 years of BLT’s to learn.

Crowley twisted, folding his head in, bending his knees, ready to hit the grass.

He did not hit the grass. He hit something softer, and far too soon. Crowley unbent himself enough to look up into a rather dazzling pair of blue eyes set into a lovely face which wore an expression of pride.

“I have you,” announced this new person who had suddenly appeared in between Crowley and his fall.

“Uh,” said Crowley, planting his feet upright again, and taking a cautious, icy step away from the arms that had been encircling him. “Thanks?”

The person— it was a man— looked very pleased. “You are welcome, Anthony J. Crowley.”

Crowley blinked at him. “Sorry— do I know you?”

“Oh!” said the man, with a flustered smile. “No, not yet. My name is Aziraphale. I’m your Guardian Angel. And I’ve just saved your life.”

What Crowley could think of to say was, “Sprained ankle.”

The man looked confused. “What?”

“Wouldn’t have died. Probably just a sprain. Sorry, you’re my _what?”_

“Guardian Angel?” The man frowned. “I was told humans knew what those are.”

To look at him, Crowley could actually believe it. This bizarre rooftop man was, without a doubt, the most beautiful person Crowley had ever seen. He had eyes blue as the sky above him, soft white-blond curls that fluffed up all over his head, a body made of gentle curves under which Crowley had felt some definite muscle, and a face that looked like it ought to be a painting of an angel, pink lips, full cheeks, an adorably upturned nose. He was wearing some seriously outdated clothes, though, a pale linen suit with waistcoat, bow tie, and pocketwatch, of all things.

There was something else rather noticeable about him. Crowley pointed at the man’s shoes. “You’re not standing on the roof.”

The man looked at his own feet, as if he might have forgotten that he was floating in the air over the lawn below. “No,” he said.

“So that’s a thing you can do?”

“I _have_ wings,” the man said, rather condescendingly. “Oh, except you can’t see them now, they’re not on this plane.” He frowned again. “Do humans really not know what angels are? Oh, dear. Well, you see, in Heaven—”

Crowley put up a hand to stop him. “I do know that part. Have two questions for you though.”

The man gave a little nervous shake of his shoulders. “All right.”

“What was your name again?”

“Aziraphale. Principality. And recently-assigned Guardian Angel,” he added, with a bit of a frown.

“Right. Second question. Aziraphale, where the _fuck_ have you been all my life?”

They got to the bottom of the stairs without further mishap. The cat had decided to jump down to Crowley’s shoulder and was happy enough to accompany him on toward the animal shelter from there. They weren’t far away if they cut through the park by the woods.

“I thought we might be getting an earthquake,” Crowley said. 

Aziraphale looked confused, both by that and by Crowley’s apparently having somewhere to be. He frowned down at the wet grass, taking oddly spaced steps with his dampened shoes. “Don’t you have a car?” he asked, rather fussily.

“Me behind the wheel?” Crowley laughed. “Think of the mayhem.”

“What?”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale carefully. He really was glorious to look at, even while making unhappy faces about the wet grass. But Crowley wasn’t at all sure if he wouldn’t rather have had the earthquake. Earthquakes could be explained, with drawings and charts and physics. An angel was something much more in Crowley’s mother’s worldview, which was not where Crowley liked to spend his time. 

“I have a little thing with bad luck,” Crowley said, and left out the _And you are the latest manifestation of it_. “Always have. Whatever can go wrong will. I’m used to it, but I do have to take precautions. One of them is not driving.”

“Oh, yes,” said Aziraphale. “The curse.”

Crowley stopped walking. The cat caught its balance on his shoulder and Aziraphale also came to a halt, his face lightly flushed with exertion. “Jes—” Crowley started, and then thought better of it. “Jiminy Christmas,” he said tightly. “Don’t tell me my mother was right.”

Aziraphale looked extremely pleased. His whole face lit up, making him look even more lovely. “Oh, so she prepared you, then. That’s very good, I was afraid I would have to explain it all. Your mother must be very clever.”

“She’s mad as a hatter,” Crowley said. “She’s always going on about animals and numbers and prophecies. Can’t make any sense of it.”

Aziraphale blinked. “Well, I think that’s the gist of it, yes.” At Crowley’s raised eyebrows, he cleared his throat and continued. “You see, we didn’t know exactly where you’d be born, so both Heaven and Hell had a little trouble in finding you. _We_ didn’t quite manage it until the sign of animals this morning, actually. Hell doesn’t appear to have made it yet,” he said, with a quick glance around. “But, ah, Hell didn’t want to wait, so it put a bad luck curse on every baby born in England at 10:02 a.m., forty-eight years ago today. Rather thought they’d take you out that way, I imagine. Fortunately, you seem to have survived so far. And now I’m here—” The cat leaned forward on Crowley’s shoulder, and they both stared at Aziraphale. “What?” the angel asked nervously.

“ _T_ _ake me out?”_

“Well, Hell wants the war, of course. But Heaven doesn’t, so we’re going to protect you. You needn’t—”

“And why the fuck would Hell want war with _me?”_

Aziraphale blinked at him. “Because you are the chosen one. To save the world? Your mother didn’t mention that part? That’s rather a large part.”

Crowley folded his hands together. “I tell you what, why don’t you begin at the beginning, go on till you come to the end, and then stop.”

Aziraphale brightened a little, and that was nicer. It was almost painful to look at him when he was in distress, his blue eyes sorrowful and his mouth turned down. “Oh!” he exclaimed. “You know _Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.”_

“You read books?”

“Of course I read books!” Aziraphale said, looking insulted, and then saddened. “It’s— well, eternity is a very long time. Anyway, _Alice_ is a favorite of mine.”

Now that he was thinking of it, Crowley could definitely see where that could be true: with the waistcoat and pocket watch and cream-colored clothing, Aziraphale looked oddly like the White Rabbit. He even had the posh accent down.

Crowley led Aziraphale to a bench that overlooked a stream. He might as well try to be a little comfortable during this discomfort. “Okay, angel. Let’s have it.”

Aziraphale fussed with his bow tie and waist coat for a moment, looking rather adorable doing it. “There’s going to be a war,” he said softly. “Unless you prevent it. In about three months. One season past your forty-eighth birthday, which would be the Fall Equinox. Heaven and Hell and humanity, all together. Armageddon, I guess you’d call it. Heaven doesn’t want it to happen. Well, officially we are neutral, because we haven’t gotten any guidance from God about it, and Michael— the Archangel, that is— feels that without God officially endorsing the war, that we should carry out our orders as always. And that means no apocalypse.”

He glanced at Crowley nervously. “Hell wants the war, though. They think they can win. It’s not as bleak as you might think,” he offered, with a wavering smile. “There will be a contest between one representative each of Heaven, Hell, and Earth. Earth— that would be you,” he said, pointing, as if he were worried Crowley would think he meant the cat curled up in his lap. “You’ve nothing to fear from Heaven, though, that will be Michael, and she’s planning to maintain neutrality. Then all you have to do is to best Beelzebub, the Regent of Hell, and you can decide whether there will be a war or not. You can choose whether humanity wants to fight Heaven and Hell or to...foment peace. Avoid the Apocalypse. Of course, it might seem that it would be better if _you_ were to remain neutral and _Michael_ fight Beelzebub, of course, as she’s an angel, and you are merely—” He cleared his throat. “Ah, but there’s so much bad blood between Heaven and Hell that if they got going, well, we fear that it wouldn’t be possible to prevent a war in any case. So it all comes down to you.”

“Right,” Crowley said. “And that would be the BLT.”

“I’m sorry?”

“The Bad Luck Thing.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale laughed nervously. “I suppose you could look at it that way. But you’re not completely defenseless, you know. You were created a little differently than other people, Anthony. You are human, but you are special. You have a pure soul. Rather like an angel does,” he said with a smile, and then he pointed to the cat. “Animals can often sense it, so maybe you’ve noticed that. And I’m quite certain that having a soul like that will help you in a fight against Hell.” Aziraphale gave Crowley a brave look, but it didn’t inspire much confidence in Crowley.

“And I’ll have you to protect me?” he asked.

“Of course,” Aziraphale said brightly. “Well...until the fight, yes. Because if something happens to you now, Earth forfeits, and Heaven will be pitted against Hell. But, um, when the fight does start, Heaven can’t actually interfere—”

“Of course not.”

Aziraphale dropped Crowley’s gaze. 

“Okay,” Crowley said, standing up, “I’ve got to get back to work.” The cat jumped up to his shoulder.

Aziraphale got to his feet as well. “Oh, I don’t think that’s a good idea. You really need to focus, Anthony.”

When Crowley didn’t answer him, Aziraphale just looked confused, in a way that made Crowley want to comfort him, his blue eyes a little sad, and his manner a little earnest, but he was at the same time, a little bit _strange._ Something about Aziraphale was slightly off, as if you could almost tell just by looking at him that if he wanted to avoid wet feet, he could fly above the grass. It was both intriguing and sort of casually terrifying.

“Right,” Crowley said. “Look. It’s my birthday, and I’ve just found out that I’m probably going to die in three months, if not before, and maybe the world will end because of it. Right now I’m desperately hoping that I’m either drunk or that I’ve dreamed you up because if not then my life is more fucked up than I ever thought. You’ll excuse me if I don’t want to _focus_ on that.”

Aziraphale stared at him for a moment, and then he said, “But— can’t you see? This isn’t—” he stumbled over the word. “It’s not— _fudged_ up at all! You’re the only one who can do this, the only human with a pure soul! It’s your glorious destiny!”

“ _Glorious?_ Are you serious? You really think that’s how it seems to me?”

“Well, it doesn’t really matter how it seems to you,” Aziraphale said, sounding bewildered. “It’s the way it is.”

There was silence for a moment, and then the angel’s face started to turn a little red.

“Right,” Crowley said. “Sod off.”

“Anthony—”

“It’s Crowley.”

Aziraphale started clasping and unclasping his hands. “Mr. Crowley—”

“Just Crowley!”

A spark of anger flared in Aziraphale’s blue eyes for the first time, and the sight of it sent an electric pulse all down Crowley’s spine. Crowley was suddenly sure that there were other supernatural things that this angel could do besides fly. “Fine!” Aziraphale snapped. _“Just Crowley!_ Look, if Heaven can find you, then so can Hell. You need me to—”

“I’ve lasted this long without you. 48 years of a bad luck curse with absolutely no help. And of course, when I finally get a Guardian Angel, I find out he’s only around to keep me alive until I get to fight a battle with Hell! So no, thank you!”

“Crowley—”

“I don’t need this,” Crowley said firmly. “And I don’t need you, angel.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth and then closed it again, looking angry and flustered, and just the tiniest bit hurt, which pinched at Crowley a little. But then the angel snapped his fingers, and he was gone.

oOo

On the bright side, it hadn’t been an earthquake. Yet, anyway. Crowley supposed he ought to be grateful for that. So far nothing had happened to anyone but him. 

That wasn’t going to last, though. And that was something Crowley had spent his life trying to avoid, the spilling over of his bad luck onto other people.

“Do you suppose I have a pure soul?” Crowley asked. It was, perhaps, a silly question, seeing as he was asking it of the little snake who’d curled up on his shoe, for no discernable reason other than the fact that animals did, in fact, seem to love him.

The one thing— the _only_ thing— that never went wrong for Crowley was animals. Wild or tame, they loved him, always and without hesitation. (Sometimes, when it got out of hand, Crowley felt like a damn Disney princess, cutting about with a random pigeon on his shoulder. At night, it was bats. That was much cooler.) Of course, if it wasn’t for the contact with feather and fur, fuzzy toes, cooling scales, Crowley would hardly ever be touched.

Crowley hadn’t gone back to work, of course, he’d ended up just sitting back down on the bench and staring at the stream. He hadn’t noticed the little snake come up to say hello, but finding him there was no surprise.

“It’s hard to disbelieve a man who can fly and disappear when he snaps his fingers,” Crowley remarked. The cat opened its eyes and closed them again, curling up more tightly on his lap.

“Fuck,” Crowley said quietly. But there was no angel there to look offended by it. Despite himself, Crowley wished that there were. But he was ignoring that feeling because it was ridiculous.

“You don’t really think it’s all going to end in three months?” Crowley asked the cat, scratching behind its ears. “Because that would really suck. I mean, the whole world? Don’t care for most of the people, that’s obvious, but all of this? All of you? Cats, snakes? Dolphins? Guess that’s really the point, isn’t it? _If_ it’s real, I’ll do the thing, won’t I? Fight Hell. I’ll lose for sure, though, I mean, what am I going to do with a pure soul, win a popularity contest with animals? _Well, the votes are in and the cats have elected Crowley to win the fight.”_

The cat, however, seemed to suddenly disagree, puffing out its fur, hissing, and jumping up to Crowley’s shoulder. Crowley turned to see that an enormous black dog was racing toward him from across the park, baring its teeth.

“Settle down,” Crowley instructed the cat. He kept his pose on the bench casual, and when the dog got closer, Crowley reached out to offer him his hand. The huge creature came to a swift halt and hesitantly sniffed Crowley’s fingers. “The hell kind of mutt are you?” Crowley asked, beginning to scratch under its chin. It was perhaps the most heavily muscled dog Crowley had ever seen, with wiry hair and really enormous teeth.

The dog accepted the pets, but stared at Crowley a moment longer, yellow eyes suspicious, which was not something that usually happened. But then it gave a big heaving sigh, lowered its ears, and flopped its head over on Crowley’s lap for ear scritches. “Big softie,” Crowley accused fondly. “Oh, who’s a good _dog,_ yes, you are, aren’t you?” The dog gazed at him adoringly as Crowley gave him full-body cuddles.

He also stroked the cat, who purred at him now. “Well, looks like I’ve got the dog vote too,” Crowley sighed. “Holy shit, you guys, the Earth is doomed.”


	2. Chapter 2

The demon took a long drink of cola, leaving a red lipstick print on her straw. “So that’s the savior of the world,” she said.

Aziraphale was sitting beside Dagon on the roof of the public library, watching Crowley eat dinner at an outdoor cafe. He’d managed to leave the human alone for a couple of hours, but now with Aziraphale’s temper cooled, he was back at work. Guarding. Doing a fine job of it. Even if to do that job, he had to stay out of Crowley’s sight. “He doesn’t want to be,” Aziraphale said.

Dagon laughed. “Would you?”

Aziraphale frowned, the concept of not being able to accept one’s destiny still a little hazy to him. “I suppose not.”

“He’s hot, though,” Dagon said, in a low voice.

Aziraphale, who had spent the last few hours telling himself that the fact that Anthony J Crowley happened to be a marvelous example of human physiology was quite irrelevant to his task, snapped at her. “He’s human.”

Dagon laughed again, crossing her legs. She wore a black pantsuit with a red blouse, and though the day had gotten quite warm by Earth standards, it no doubt seemed chilly to her, compared to Hell. “Well, what other choice is there for you, darling?” she asked. “Another angel?” Her pretty green eyes sparkled with amusement amid the glittering fish scales on her cheeks and forehead. “You’re out of luck there, because ‘asshole’ isn’t your type. I’m the only demon you know and it didn't work out between us when I _was_ an angel.” She tipped her head a little. “My fault, that.”

“It’s not your fault that you don't experience sexual desire and I do,” Aziraphale said absently, watching Crowley drop his fork on the sidewalk. Without missing a beat, he pulled another fork from the pile that he’d had the server leave on the table. “You're still the best friend I've ever had.”

It was, of course, hard and rather foolish for him to say that, out loud, where anyone might hear. Dagon made it worse by remarking, _“Awww,”_ in a syrupy voice.

Aziraphale huffed at her. “It is your fault you Fell,” he reminded her sharply.

“Oh, but it’s better down here, darling.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. The sun was starting to descend now and throwing its light on the sidewalk cafe, and Crowley’s red hair began to glow. He was— he really was beautiful. Tall and lanky, sharp features, dressed in a gray t-shirt and black jacket, extremely tight faded jeans and a way of walking in them that caused his hips to swing distractingly _._ Aziraphale wondered what color his eyes were behind those dark glasses. He also wondered what it would look like if Crowley smiled. Aziraphale hadn’t seen it yet. Maybe he never would. 

And of course, though Crowley was stubborn and argumentative, he also appeared to be clever and empathetic and _kind._ Perhaps that came from having a pure soul. Even now there was a very large black dog lying under Crowley’s chair, sniffing at every dropped fork.

Dagon had a smug little smile on her face, watching Aziraphale watch Crowley. She poked him in the shoulder. “Have you still never eaten human food?”

“Why would I eat human food?”

Dagon gave him a wicked grin that caused the scales on her cheeks to scatter light in rainbows. “Because you’d _love_ it, Aziraphale. Oh, you’re wasted up there in Heaven when the Earth has so much to offer! You already love the books and museums and music here. One taste—” she let her eyes drift down to Crowley again— “of anything _truly_ pleasurable, and you’d be hooked.”

Aziraphale sighed. “That’s a lovely attempt at both slander and tempting an angel. Well done, you.”

“Just saying.”

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale said softly, “if there’s any point in— in liking Earthly things. It might all be gone in three months anyway.”

“You can’t think like that.”

“Right.” Aziraphale tried to resist the flush he could feel creeping onto his face. “For goodness sakes, Dagon, I don’t know if Crowley’s even going to make it three months! My first day on the job as a Guardian Angel and he fires me. Can you imagine what Gabriel will say when he finds that out that I’m a failure already? And worse, as soon as Hell figures out where he is— I know you don’t plan to tell them, but they aren’t going to need you to.”

Dagon laid a hand on his shoulder. “We won’t let it happen.”

He turned to look at her through a sheen of shameful tears. “My dear, your side wants to kill him. I’m afraid that...you and I are backing different horses in this race.”

Dagon glowered at him, which probably would have looked quite frightening if Aziraphale didn’t know better. “Aziraphale, you and I were on our own side in Heaven, before my Fall, and even though you wouldn’t come Down with me, we’re still on our own side now. We always will be.” Her green eyes filled with a dark worry. “Look, Beez and I have been together so long I can hardly remember what it’s like to be without them. I Fell to Hell, and fell for its Regent practically on the same day. For me it’s not just about wanting to save the Earth. That human of yours—” she pointed with a red-tipped fingernail— “is a threat to the person that I love. Crowley wouldn’t be the chosen one if it wasn’t possible for him to defeat Beez, to— to harm them. We’re not— you and I have different horses, yes. That’s why we have to make sure that there is no race!”

Aziraphale took Dagon’s hands in his own. “I’m sorry, my dear. You’re right. You know that your spouse’s well-being matters to me more than I can say. A piece of my heart lies with you, Dagon, and that will never change.”

Dagon nodded, blinking away tears. “Let’s go. I want to meet this man of yours.”

Aziraphale was about to object, but he was distracted by Dagon changing form. Her dark hair, which had been in an updo, came down to rest around her shoulders. Her body shape tightened a little, angles replacing curves, and her facial features filled out, becoming less sharp. 

Dagon wasn’t overly attached to any particular gender, so Aziraphale was quite used to this form. What was suspicious was the timing. “What’s this, then?” Aziraphale asked.

Dagon grinned at him. As he often did, he’d kept his clothes and accessories the same, down to the painted nails and high heels. He did vanish his fish scales, though, replacing the ones on his cheeks with a little dark stubble. “Your human is gay,” he said in his deeper voice. “I thought I’d get in a little tempting.”

Aziraphale made a noise of general disapproval.

“I notice you’re presenting male,” Dagon pointed out.

“I always present male.”

“Well, lucky for you he’s gay, then. You never know, maybe he won’t pay any attention to me. Maybe you’re his type, all blond and soft and easily flustered.”

“I am not easily—” The conversation cut off abruptly as they watched the large black dog beneath Crowley’s chair get up and stretch a bit before lying back down. For a moment, it turned its face toward the library.

“Well,” Dagon said, “it appears Hell has located him.”

oOo

Aziraphale probably should not have materialized right next to Crowley and the _dog,_ because it gave Crowley a start and he nearly fell off of his chair. Crowley managed to grab hold of the table though, and steady himself. He had good reflexes. Of course, that was probably from living so long with a bad luck curse, which was unfortunate.

It was also unfortunate that Aziraphale had managed to startle the _dog._ It stood up and looked at him angrily, showing its impressive set of teeth.

“Dog,” Aziraphale said urgently.

Crowley raised his eyebrows over his dark glasses, most definitely not smiling. “Yes?” he asked.

“That isn’t,” Aziraphale said, pointing, as if there were another creature in the area. “A dog. It’s a hell hound.”

Crowley had started scratching the thing behind its ears. “He’s a what now?”

Dagon arrived then, having chosen to stroll up to them rather than materialize out of nowhere, and Aziraphale was certain that would help the situation, until Dagon said, “It should have eaten you.”

Crowley stopped being confused and instead looked annoyed. He sighed and clunked his fork onto his plate, his dinner apparently over, which gave Aziraphale a twinge of guilt. “Right. So now I have a _hell hound_ that wants to eat me and two guardian angels? This just gets better and better.”

Dagon burst out laughing. “One angel, one hell hound, one—”

“Friend of an angel,” Aziraphale interrupted, glaring at him. Dagon fortunately didn’t correct him.

Crowley was still petting the hound, at least, and that seemed to be pacifying the creature. Aziraphale didn’t let himself look at Crowley’s hands moving. “You do have a way with animals, don’t you?” he asked, trying not to let his voice waver too much.

“That’s the only thing that never goes badly,” Crowley confirmed, looking down at the dog.

Aziraphale’s breath hitched a little. “Crowley, I’m so sorry. I should never have left you. You could have been—” He didn’t want to finish the sentence.

Crowley looked at him a moment through those opaque dark glasses before saying, “Wasn’t all your fault. I chased you off. Anyway, turned out all right.”

“Yes, so far you two are doing wonderfully!” Dagon exclaimed. He pulled out a chair and sat down at Crowley’s table.

Crowley gave a displeased snort. “Well, go ahead, make yourself at home.” 

Dagon inspected Crowley’s plate. “So what’s for dinner? Oh, this must be an all-day breakfast place. You’ve got pancakes! Aziraphale—” he indicated the chair next to him, between himself and Crowley. Well, between himself and the hell hound. Despite being from Hell, the hounds didn’t have a reputation for being any nicer to demons than they were to angels. “You’ve got to try these,” Dagon said, “and then work your way up to crepes. Marvelous things those are, filled with chocolate sometimes.”

“What’s choc—” Aziraphale started, and was interrupted by Dagon casually stealing some sort of piece of food off of Crowley’s plate. Aziraphale finally sat down between them, if only to prevent that from happening again. 

“So who are you?” Crowley asked Dagon.

Dagon ignored the question and snapped his fingers. A rather bewildered server appeared, and Dagon gave her some sort of food order.

“Will you please leave the humans alone?” Aziraphale asked wearily. Dagon just smiled at him. Aziraphale pointedly did not look to see if Crowley seemed to find that smile appealing. Aziraphale knew that Dagon wasn’t really intending to tempt Crowley into anything, but whether Dagon was an angel, demon, or mer-creature, male, female, nonbinary— they were attractive, always had been. And stylish. It was far more likely that they would be Crowley’s type than Aziraphale was.

Of course, romance had _absolutely nothing to do_ with this situation, and Aziraphale was not thinking about it in the first place. “Crowley, meet my friend Dagon,” he said.

Dagon gave Crowley a smirk, which made Aziraphale suspicious, but before he could cut Dagon off, the demon said, “Friend, yes. Also ex-romantic partner, as it happens.”

Crowley’s skin suddenly flushed a little pink, which caused Aziraphale to stare at him. “Uh,” Crowley said quietly. “Huh. Didn’t know your kind— got up to that sort of thing.”

“Oh, of course,” Dagon said. “All the time. In fact, Aziraphale is quite fond of—”

“Do you _mind?”_ Aziraphale demanded.

Dagon answered honestly. “Not in the slightest.”

Aziraphale snapped his fingers, almost before he realized he was going to, and the poor server reappeared, this time with a tray of food.

“Hypocrite,” Dagon said, pointing a red-tipped finger.

“I’ll tip well,” Aziraphale muttered. He looked down at the food that had been placed in front of him. It smelled appetizing, at least. “So what is this?” he asked, as the server hastened back into the cafe, her pocket a least a little heavier with cash.

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Wait— have you never eaten food before?”

Aziraphale shook his head. Crowley got a smirk on his face that reminded Aziraphale entirely too much of Dagon teasing him. “All right,” Crowley said. He leaned forward and started pointing things out on the plate. “That’s scrambled egg.”

“The egg of what?” Aziraphale asked.

“A chicken,” Dagon said. He’d leaned closer too. Aziraphale felt a bit like a museum exhibit faced with a tour group.

“And those are pancakes,” Crowley told him, pointing to some round bread-like things. “You put butter and syrup on them. And those are sausage patties. It’s pigs.”

“Well,” Aziraphale said, forcing a smile. “Isn’t it all— lovely?”

Dagon gave an exasperated sigh. “If you don’t want that, Aziraphale, there’s always the classic.”

A bright red apple appeared. But not on Azirphale’s plate. Not even in Dagon’s hand. It manifested in Crowley’s hand where it rested on the table, stretched out toward Aziraphale like Lucifer had toward Eve.

Aziraphale felt his face blaze red and he snatched up the fruit and handed it back to the demon who’d materialized it. Dagon bit into it with a grin. “Brings back memories, huh?”

“You weren’t in Eden, so you don’t have any memories of it. And in any case, the tree did not come within my purview, as well you know.”

Crowley was watching them with that half-bewildered, half-annoyed look. He crossed his arms over his chest. “You were in the Garden of Eden?”

“I was Guard of the Eastern Gate,” Aziraphale said, with some sense of dignity. He picked up a fork and poked at the pancakes.

Dagon grabbed a bottle of what must have been syrup and poured it over them. “This is maple,” he said. “Comes from trees. Plus there’s a ton of sugar in it.”

“So you’re like— a soldier, then?” Crowley asked, sounding a little too amused. “An angelic warrior?”

“Used to have a sword and everything,” Dagon told him.

Aziraphale spoke quietly but very sharply. _“Dagon, that’s enough.”_

Dagon looked a little chastened. He pointed toward the pancakes. “Go on then.”

Aziraphale gave the pancakes another doubtful look, and then he stabbed a piece with his fork and put it in his mouth.

Aziraphale had never really tasted anything before, so his mind wasn’t completely sure what to do with the sensation. Perhaps it couldn’t be blamed for first trying something visual. Aziraphale had a sudden thought of maple trees in a snowfall, which was probably because Aziraphale knew what sugar looked like—white crystals. But the vision didn’t do the pancake justice. It was warm on his tongue, and soft, and decadent, a pleasure that was perhaps just a little like kissing. Aziraphale and Dagon had only kissed a few times, but Aziraphale had greatly enjoyed it. 

That _might_ have been why Aziraphale made a sort of moaning sound with the pancake in his mouth.

Dagon burst out laughing and struck the table with his hand. “I knew it! Bloody hedonist, you are.”

Aziraphale concentrated on chewing and swallowing, trying not to stare too hard at Crowley, whose face had completely drained of color when Aziraphale had made that sound. His fingers had stilled on the hell hound’s head and the creature butted at him impatiently.

“Um, yes,” Aziraphale said quietly. “Delightful.”

“Now the eggs,” Dagon told him triumphantly. “Go on, darling, you’ll love them!”

oOo

Crowley had not wanted to see Aziraphale again. This is what he’d told himself. This is, on some level, what he believed. The rest of him knew it was bullshit.

Honestly, it probably wasn’t his fault. It was most likely just the angel thing. Angels were made to be attractive, weren’t they? To be all bright and golden and beautiful? No doubt every human who came in contact with an angel fell in love with them a little bit. It had nothing to do with Crowley, nothing to do with Aziraphale himself. It was just that humans were meant to trust angels, so angels had been created to be— sweet. Lovely. Fascinating.

It was just Aziraphale’s camouflage. It had to be, a way to try to disguise the strangeness of Aziraphale, the slight _otherness_ of him that would otherwise be even more eerie than it was. In any case, Crowley’s life was turning upside down and he obviously didn’t want Aziraphale hanging around and reminding him of it. 

And then...and then Aziraphale had made that _noise_ with the pancakes. A moan so sensual it was completely indecent. Having learned that Aziraphale was— that he took _lovers_ was not helping the situation, because now Crowley wanted to know if Aziraphale ever took _human_ partners. Fuck it all, Crowley wanted to be the reason Aziraphale made that damned sound.

And then there was Dagon, whoever he was. He was indeed Aziraphale’s friend, Crowley could see that. He had that same eerieness about him, but somehow, Crowley doubted he was another angel. And Crowley was also just a little worr— ah, _wondering_ if they really weren’t lovers any longer. They were obviously quite close. Not that Crowley cared about that at all, of course. And if he did, it wasn’t his fault, was it?

Dagon was laughing now, as Aziraphale tried the scrambled eggs. “Take it easy, Aziraphale,” he chided, “I don’t want you discorporating on me.”

Crowley cleared his throat. “Discorporating?” he asked. “What’s that?”

“Death of the physical body that an angel occupies,” Dagon told him. “Pain in the arse, it is. Lots of paperwork to get a new body.”

“Occupies?” Crowley exclaimed. He pointed at the two otherworldly beings. “You mean you’ve possessed somebody?”

Aziraphale swallowed hastily and shot Dagon a glare. “Certainly not. These bodies are created for us to use. We don’t evict humans from them.”

“So you can’t actually die, then?” Crowley asked. “Makes sense.”

“An angelic soul can be destroyed,” Aziraphale said. “It takes a certain weapon. Hellfire would do it. Same with holy water for a demon.”

“Wait,” Crowley said, “demons are a thing too?”

Dagon gave him an immediate grin. “Oh, yes. Demons are a thing. Hell’s just full of Fallen angels.”

Crowley shifted his hand on the dog’s head, moving to scratch him under the chin, as a way to keep himself feeling somewhat grounded. Hell hound or not, the dog seemed perfectly normal to Crowley, not in the least bit spooky. “So what do you have to do to Fall?” Crowley asked.

“Angels are held to a high standard,” Aziraphale explained, managing to cut a piece of pancake with the side of his fork, and looking very pleased with himself. “There are forbidden acts, just as for humans. Wrath, greed, lust—” 

Dagon answered the question before Crowley could ask it. “Lust is fu—” he amended the word at a disapproving sound from Aziraphale— _“having relations with_ someone you don’t love,” he said. “The marriage thing doesn’t matter. You just have to be in love. Biggest sin though, is a loss of faith. Angels Fall for that all the time.”

“But how can you lose faith when you know God is real?” Crowley asked.

“An angel’s faith isn’t in God, exactly,” Aziraphale answered quietly, having gone still for a moment. “It’s in the fact that God is good. That all things work together for the best, that it’s all part of a good plan, even when things look— dark.”

“Like the end of the world dark?”

Aziraphale gave him a small, rather brave smile. “Yes.” 

“So what happens when you Fall?” Crowley asked.

“It hurts,” Dagon said. “Although occasionally a Falling angel has another angel nearby to try to lessen the pain.”

“Wait, that’s allowed?” Crowley asked.

Dagon smirked. “Nope. But it turns out that _some_ angels don’t give a shit about a rather large selection of the rules—”

Aziraphale made a noise with his fork, laying it down on the plate with a bit of clatter. “Well!” he exclaimed. “That was lovely.” He looked at Crowley. “Um, we should— we should probably discuss—”

He was cut off by Dagon making a sudden surprised noise. He jumped up from his chair. “Fuck, Aziraphale— incoming. I can’t be here.”

Aziraphale was instantly on his feet as well. “Go,” he said, and there was a look in his eyes that Crowley had never seen before, which probably wasn’t surprising, because he didn’t know Aziraphale all that well, but it was also a kind of look that Crowley hadn’t expected to see on Aziraphale’s face. A determination. A strength. It went beyond the faint strangeness of him. Aziraphale looked— dangerous. Maybe like an angelic warrior after all.

As Dagon disappeared, someone else popped into view out in the street. It looked like a man dressed in black. It couldn't have been a man though, because he had huge black wings coming out of his back and way too many teeth.

The dog was immediately in front of Crowley, snarling and somehow looking even bigger, and well, more _hellish_ than he had before. The demon (Crowley assumed it was a demon) got a look of fear on his face and for a second Crowley was relieved.

But then the demon threw out his hands and some sort of green energy came from them, heading toward Crowley and the dog, and the dog charged forward to meet it.

“No!” Crowley cried. He chased after the dog, but he wasn’t fast enough to prevent the hit. The dog let out a squealing noise and collapsed to the pavement, his stomach smoking a little. Crowley heard another bolt coming and he slid down in the street to cover the dog with his body. 

The hit never came. Instead, Crowley and the dog were surrounded with a golden-white glow that was almost too bright to look at. Crowley looked anyway, glad for his sunglasses. Aziraphale was standing between them and the demon, and it looked like his entire body was blazing up with some kind of flame. 

Aziraphale had said he had wings, but somehow Crowley hadn’t pictured them like this, not so large that they brushed the street, looking massive and heavy and yet flexing effortlessly behind him. And so obviously soft that Crowley longed to touch them. Aziraphale was the most glorious thing Crowley had ever seen.

Aziraphale’s voice sounded in the street, and it was far louder than it should have been. It felt like the words got into Crowley’s head and banged around inside his skull.

_BE GONE._

The demon scrambled back a little, a bit of that green energy staining his hands. He tried to throw some at Aziraphale but the angel brought his hands up in front of him and the green energy fizzled out where it met them. The demon looked terrified. 

At this point, Crowley closed his eyes. There was a bit of screaming then, and afterwards, silence.

Then Crowley felt hands on his arm, and he looked up to see Aziraphale, more or less back to his human-like appearance. He seemed displeased, pulling on Crowley until he could see the injuries Crowley had taken in his slide into the street. His shirt was torn and his arms bloody beneath.

Aziraphale sighed. “Crowley, you idiot. Why would you do that?”

Crowley was unable to answer him for a moment. He’d learned long ago that people spending time with him tended to suffer his bad luck along with him. Crowley had largely given up on other people long ago, for their own good. Which meant that hardly anyone ever touched him like Aziraphale was doing now.

And it wasn’t just Aziraphale’s hands. The angel sat down in the street, and pulled Crowley up beside him, leaning Crowley’s body against his own. Crowley realized that his golden angelic glow wasn't completely gone— it surrounded Aziraphale still, most strongly around his hands as he passed them over Crowley’s arms. Crowley watched the abrasions vanish before his eyes.

Oh, he definitely could have used Aziraphale’s presence in his life long before this. Fortunately, he didn’t say that. What he managed to say was, “Had to try to save him, he’s a dog.”

“He’s not!” Aziraphale snapped. “He’s a hell hound. He’s evil.”

Crowley petted the dog lightly, looking for injuries. He was nearly motionless, and his fur was still smoking. “Are you honestly going to tell me I’m the savior of the world and then not expect me to protect anything?” Crowley asked. He turned back to see Aziraphale staring at him. “Can you help him? Like you’re doing with me?” This got him a frown. “He tried to save me,” Crowley reminded him.

Aziraphale sighed. “Yes, I suppose that puts him on our— our side, doesn’t it?”

“Exactly,” Crowley said, and gave Aziraphale a grin. “And when you’re done with him, I think I’ve got a broken ankle. The Bacon Sandwich, you know, BLT. Can’t just slide into the street without major damage.” He broke off. “What?”

At the question, Aziraphale flushed, and the rosy color to his cheeks in the midst of his glow was beautiful enough to take Crowley’s breath away. “Oh,” Aziraphale said, rather nervously. “Sorry. It’s just— I’ve never seen you smile before. It’s lov— it’s nice.”

Crowley just stared at him. He wasn’t really able to do anything else. He was still hyper aware of all the places that he and Aziraphale were touching. Legs, arms, hands. A part of Crowley never wanted to move again for the rest of his life, and another part of him wanted to be even closer. 

But there were more important things at stake. “Dog, angel,” he said softly.

Aziraphale startled a little. “Oh, yes, right.” He moved toward the dog, and Crowley was pleasantly surprised to hear Aziraphale’s voice come out sweet and comforting. “There you are, you poor— uh, you poor _thing._ Don’t worry, we’ll get you fixed up. Just, um— just remember I’m trying to help, if you please.”

As Crowley watched, the glow around Aziraphale’s hands intensified, and the dog took a deeper breath in. As the smoke cut off, Crowley finally saw proof that this was no ordinary dog. The smoke was coming from inside him, as if it were his blood.

When the dog woke up, he made a whining sound, and Crowley scratched him gently on the head. “Don’t worry, Dog. It will be all right.”

Someone nearby laughed and Crowley turned to see Dagon returned. “Did you name the dog ‘Dog?’” he asked.

“If it gets you two to call him a dog, yes,” Crowley snapped. “Where did you go? You left Aziraphale to face that thing alone. I thought you were his friend.”

Aziraphale spoke before Dagon could. “He had to.”

Dagon made himself comfortable sitting on the street beside them, completely graceful in his high heels. “I’m afraid I can’t be seen with you two by other demons. Might raise some questions.”

“Other—”

Dagon grinned at him then and Crowley startled a little to see his mouth now full of pointed teeth. And something on his cheeks and forehead glittered almost like fish scales. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Dagon, Master of Torments.”

“He doesn’t need the whole title,” Aziraphale chided, gingerly checking the dog for other injuries. The dog started wagging his tail a little.

“So you’re from Hell,” Crowley said to Dagon, “but you don’t want to kill me?”

Dagon shrugged. “It’s complicated.”

Crowley winced as Aziraphale touched his injured ankle, and the angel gave him an apologetic look. “So, a demon,” Crowley said, unsure of what one normally said to Fallen angels. “How’s that then?”

“You know,” Dagon said smoothly, “you might like it in Hell. We could get up to all sorts of lovely things down there with a pretty one like you.”

“Lovely things like torments?”

Dagon grinned. “Exactly like torments.”

Aziraphale cut in wearily. “He can’t very well save the world if you’ve tempted him down to Hell, now can he? I thought you liked the world.”

Dagon smiled. “So I do. And _you_ were very impressive,” he said to Aziraphale. “I saw the whole thing. _Guard of the Eastern Gate._ I guess you never forget.”

Aziraphale didn’t answer. His hands withdrew from Crowley’s ankle and he moved away from him completely then. 

Crowley was suddenly cold without his touch. Cold and really fucking tired. “We’re doomed, aren’t we?” he asked. “I’m supposed to best the Regent of Hell without any help? I won’t last a second against a demon, let alone the leader of demons.”

Aziraphale looked at him nervously. “It’s— it’s a lot, isn’t it?” he asked softly. “I’m so sorry, Crowley.”

“Glorious destiny,” Crowley said flippantly, and then regretted it as Aziraphale flinched. 

“Yes, well,” the angel said. He stood up, and Crowley did the same, testing out his ankle. It felt completely normal. Oh, how he wished he’d met Aziraphale long before this. And, if he was being honest, it wasn’t just for the mending of broken bones.

But any brave, protective look on Aziraphale’s face had vanished. “Um, look,” he said, “this time you don’t have to ask. I’ll just— well, what I should have done this morning is to set up a bit of a, well, an alarm on you. So that if you are in trouble, I’ll know immediately. And I can be with you in an instant, of course. Plus, you have, ah, Dog.”

“You’re leaving?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale reached out and touched Crowley on the shoulder. It stung a little, and that was probably the angelic alarm thing. It stung worse when he pulled away, but Crowley tried to ignore that. “Yeah, fine,” he said. “Go on.”

“I’ll check on the demon attack,” Dagon said. “Report back later.”

Aziraphale nodded. And then the two of them were gone, and it was just Crowley on the street with Dog, both of them a little worse for wear. Crowley scratched him under the chin. “Well, that was a thing,” he sighed.


	3. Chapter 3

The room was dark, the way Beez liked it, dark and cool and empty compared to the rest of Hell. There was a desk, a throne (of course), a bed, and a soft black couch, which was where Dagon was sitting now, with Beez in his arms.

“You are a master at walking the tightrope,” Beez said. “I’m not sure I can do that.”

Beez’s head was resting against Dagon’s chest, and Dagon was carding his fingers through their dark hair. Dagon was still presenting mostly male at the moment, so right now his chest was broad beneath Beez’s cheek. But Beez was such a tiny thing that they fit just perfectly up against Dagon in any form. “I’ve just had practice,” Dagon said. “You can do it too. I’ll help you.”

Beez made a snorting noise. “You’re not Regent. And the demon who _is_ Regent is in love with you, so even if anybody else finds out your loyalties lie with your angelic best friend, you won’t be punished for it. But if I consider abstaining from the fight like Michael is, Hell will revolt.”

“Aziraphale doesn’t have all my loyalties,” Dagon reminded them. “I’m loyal to you, too.”

“Exactly, that’s the tightrope,” Beez said with a sigh. “Aziraphale and I can live and let live because we both love you, and deep down, we don’t give a shit about each other. But that’s a unique situation.”

Dagon made a grumbling noise, and Beez slipped their arms around his waist. “It will be lovely when Hell wins the war, darling. I know you don’t think that, but without Heaven as a threat, we will be able to thrive. And you know I can make sure nothing happens to Aziraphale.”

Dagon looked at the empty throne across the room, standing in a shaft of light that was nothing like sunlight. “You’re so certain Hell will win?”

“Heaven’s not preparing for it. We are.”

“And what of the humans?” Dagon asked, surprised to find his voice hitching a little. 

“That’s their fate,” Beez said quietly. “That’s just how this ends for them.”

“It doesn’t have to—”

“I know. I know,” Beez said gently, tightening their arms around him. “I know you love them. I know you love the Earth. I admit, it has its pleasures. But this is the way it’s supposed to be.”

Dagon growled and sat up. “What if it’s not? Heaven doesn’t want the war. They’re not a threat to us. And the humans are hardly—”

“Heaven is always a threat,” Beez snapped, as they curled up against him again.

“Oh, what do they ever do to us except send us more Fallen angels? We ought to be grateful.”

Beez frowned. “Grateful to Heaven? Listen to yourself.”

“Millions of demons will die,” Dagon said. “Millions of angels, and billions of humans. That’s a lot more important than the random skirmishing demons and angels do now.”

“You make it sound simple,” Beez said. “It’s not.”

“Right. It’s just glorious destiny, huh?”

Beez snorted. “That sounds like an Aziraphale thing to say. How’s he doing with this? I can’t believe Gabriel gave him the job, of all people. He’s hardly Guardian Angel material.”

“He did pretty well,” Dagon said. “Missed the hell hound, but—”

Beez hummed softly. “I’m not hearing anything about the hell hound having failed, remember?”

Dagon sighed and kissed their cheek. “Right. This other demon, though— Aziraphale did well with him. Smote him right out of existence.”

“And you didn’t recognize him?”

Dagon shook his head. Beez frowned. “I’ve got people asking around. I certainly didn’t sanction him. It might be that he just got over-eager and took some initiative. Or—” 

Dagon’s hands tightened on Beez. “It has to be that.”

Beez met Dagon’s eyes. There wasn’t much color to Beez’s eyes, just a kind of endless darkness. “You know that it may not matter what I plan to do about the fight,” they said softly. “If there are demons now who suspect I’m soft about it, they might work against me by doing things like sending their own assassins after Crowley. If that fails—they might rebel at any time.”

“I’m—” Dagon had to try again to make the words come out. “I’m protecting Crowley now because if he dies, war will be inevitable. But if it comes to that, Beez, if it looks like it will be the two of you fighting, if that’s your choice— I won’t let him ever get the chance to hurt you. I can take him out before the fight starts. Even if it means war. Aziraphale won’t see it coming. He won’t forgive me. But he’ll understand.”

Beez smiled fondly, and a little sadly. “You’re wavering on your tightrope, Deep One. Remember, don’t look down.”

oOo

Aziraphale wasn’t sure where to go after he left Crowley. His home was in Heaven, but his charge was here on Earth. He had to stay near Crowley, but Crowley didn’t want him around— and Aziraphale didn’t blame him anymore for that— so Aziraphale was left just wandering the city of London without any real destination in mind.

After what had happened in Eden, after the foolish thing Aziraphale had done, Aziraphale hadn’t been allowed to visit Earth. His only experiences with it were when he sneaked out to meet Dagon in neutral territory. Dagon, as spouse of the Regent of Hell, had free rein to travel, and they loved Earth. Aziraphale had slowly learned to appreciate parts of it: books, museums, music, the ocean. The Earth was more colorful than Heaven, warmer, wilder, sweeter. Dagon knew Aziraphale too well, as well as the angel knew himself. Any real taste of pleasure would only make it harder for Aziraphale to go back up to Heaven and leave it all behind. So he’d always resisted Earth as well as he could. Not much choice about that now, though.

Aziraphale could leave Heaven permanently, of course, by Falling. Dagon occasionally tempted him toward that still, but it didn’t seem like that was Aziraphale’s path. He didn’t want to be a demon. But that didn’t mean that he liked the other angels very much. Dagon had been, and remained, Aziraphale’s only true friend, although Aziraphale and Beelzebub had come to tolerate each other quite well.

Aziraphale’s superior in Heaven was the Archangel Gabriel. Aziraphale tried very hard to like _him,_ at least. But while Beez had the redeeming quality of being a good spouse to Dagon, Gabriel had little about him that was especially praiseworthy.

That was a terrible thought for an angel to have. Perhaps it was justified then that Gabriel thought Aziraphale was a terrible angel.

The streets of London this evening were full of life. People passing, the smell of food cooking, laughter, sharp words, children calling to parents and to each other. Aziraphale eventually found himself standing on the sidewalk outside of a church. It was tall and beautiful, with stained glass windows and a golden cross on top. _St. Thomas Catholic Church_ was written over the door in gold letters.

Aziraphale perhaps stood there a little too long, because he eventually was noticed. He was joined by a man dressed in black with a white collar around his neck, who stood on the sidewalk beside Aziraphale, looking up at the church with him. He had brown hair, which was thinning, and round glasses.

“Evening, Father,” Aziraphale said politely.

“If you’re at all interested,” the priest said, “there’s a free meal being served at the parish hall tonight, just around the corner.”

“Oh, thank you,” Aziraphale said. “I’ve— I’ve eaten.” He wasn’t sure why he added, “Pancakes.”

The priest smiled. “Never the wrong time of day for pancakes, if you ask me.” He offered Aziraphale his hand. “I’m Father Layne. Church is open if you’d like to come in, but it’s quite all right if you don’t.”

Aziraphale shook his hand. “Aziraphale,” he said.

Father Layne looked impressed. “Now _that_ is a name. Angel, right? Principality?”

Aziraphale almost laughed but didn’t quite manage it. “That’s what they tell me.” He let his eyes travel the church again, arched windows and warm brown walls. Hardly a speck of white anywhere. “I think I would like to come in,” he said.

The inside of the church was clean and quiet and cool and absolutely wild with color. The stained glass windows depicted saints with red and purple robes, along with fish and grapes and stalks of wheat, white doves with green branches in their mouths. The carpeting was deep red and the vaulted ceiling painted in intricate geometric designs in hues bright enough to be seen far below. The statuary showed Mary in vivid blue, the Baby happy, with brown hair and eyes and a smile.

Father Layne had slowed to a stop, watching Aziraphale take it all in. “It amazes me,” the priest said, “what heights of art and beauty humans will use to honor God. If only we put in this much effort into our dealings with other people.”

“Perhaps art is easier,” Aziraphale suggested.

Father Layne laughed. “Oh, I’ve no doubt.”

Aziraphale turned his gaze away from the Crucifix with the tortured body hung upon it. He caught Father Layne looking at him, and confessed, “I was never really a fan of the cross as a religious symbol.”

“Well, I’m grateful for the cross, of course,” Father Layne said, “but I think I know what you mean. I much prefer the fish myself. It’s a symbol of life. Jesus as fisherman, feeding the multitudes— that’s the God I want to follow.” He looked around the church for a moment with narrowed eyes. “I’m afraid we don’t have any depictions of Aziraphale. Mostly just the archangels. I suppose that’s how it goes.”

“Well,” Aziraphale said darkly, “he’s not done much to deserve one, has he?”

Father Layne looked at him curiously for a moment, but he only said, “Would you like to sit down?”

They chose a pew halfway up the aisle. “You look,” Father Layne said, “like you have questions. I’ll give you a warning: I have questions too. Far more questions than answers. It’s the human condition, I suppose. We’ll have to wait until Judgement Day to find out most of it.”

“I, um, I hope that doesn’t come anytime soon,” Aziraphale said.

Father Layne laughed. “I’m not too worried about it. Got too much else to think about. You look like you do, too.”

Aziraphale regarded him a moment. “What is your favorite thing about the world?” he asked.

Father Layne gave him an amused smile. “Didn’t expect that question. But at least I might be able to answer it.” He looked up at the church ceiling again, and then to the windows. “I like violins,” he said. “Fiddles. So versatile. There are so many beautiful kinds of music you can make with a violin, and you can talk all the while, or sing. I don’t know how humankind invented the string instruments, and if it wasn’t divine intervention, then I am very proud of us.” He smiled at Aziraphale. “What about you?”

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale said. “There are so many things I’ve never tried.”

“That’s a fair answer,” Father Layne said. 

“Did you always want to be a priest?” Azirpahale asked.

“Nope. Fell into it kind of backwards and with much protesting on my part. Then when I got here I realized this fit me better than anything else had.”

“Sounds ineffable,” Aziraphale said.

“I suppose it does. How about you?”

“I’m in somewhat of a new job myself,” Aziraphale answered. “I don’t think I’m very good at it. I’m not sure that I’ve ever really been good at anything.”

Father Layne peered at him through his glasses. Behind them, his eyes were dark brown. “Well, what have you tried?”

“Mostly doing what other people tell me.”

“So you might be ready to strike out on your own, then.”

“Oh, that—” Aziraphale frowned. “That’s not really an option.”

“Not an option at all or just too costly?” Father Layne asked.

“I did something once—” Aziraphale had stopped looking at the priest and was focused on the glass faces of other angels. “Didn’t follow orders, did something rash.”

“Why did you do it?”

“I thought it needed to be done. Someone was in need, and I wanted to help them.”

“You do seem like the protective type,” Father Layne said.

Aziraphale looked at him in surprise. “I— I’m not good at it, though.”

“Well, did you help the person when you did your rash thing?”

“It was two people. And yes, I guess so. For a while.”

“Sounds like you are good at it.”

Aziraphale sighed, leaning back against the pew. “Father, do you believe in Guardian Angels?”

“I’d like to. It’s a wonderful concept, beings of goodness and light watching over us, saving us mostly from ourselves.”

“I’m not sure I believe in them either,” Aziraphale confessed, his voice dark.

They were interrupted then by the door of the church swinging open. The light from the door made the red carpet blaze up like fire. “Father?” a voice called. 

Father Layne jumped up as a tall young man came in, supporting a woman who was coughing loudly. “She starting having trouble breathing during dinner at the Parish Hall,” the man said. “She won’t let me call an ambulance.”

“Don’t need an ambulance,” the woman said in a hoarse voice. “I’m fine.”

“Grace,” Father Layne chided gently. “You’ve been ill a while.”

Aziraphale was there almost before he realized it, with his hand under Grace’s arm, helping her to sit down in a pew. She looked at him curiously, but before she could say anything, another fit of coughing took her.

Aziraphale kept his hand on her arm, fragile and thin, letting Grace’s condition become clear to him. She was homeless, she was elderly, and she was scared. And she definitely needed a hospital. But a lot of her fear came from the idea of being taken away from her neighborhood and left in the care of strangers. 

Aziraphale focused a little, and felt Grace’s coughing spasm ease. He did his best to inhibit the angelic glow that wanted to come out around him, trying to at least keep it to his hands, which were mostly hidden by Grace’s sleeve.

Grace focused on him. “Who’re you?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Aziraphale said softly, concentrating on her lungs now, visualizing the cancer falling away. And the arthritis in her hip, while he was at it. A moment later, he pulled back and realized that everyone was looking curiously at him.

Grace took a deep breath. “Told you I didn’t need an ambulance,” she snapped, although there wasn’t much heat to it. “Take me back, I didn’t get pie yet.”

The man who’d brought her in smiled as he helped her up. “I put a piece back for you, don’t worry.”

“Cherry?” Grace asked.

“Of course cherry, I know you don’t abide the lemon.”

“Well.” Grace smiled a little, and took a couple of light steps. “Hmmph,” she said. “Feel fine now, don’t I? Told you. See ya, Father.”

Father Layne moved his hand briefly in a blessing, and then waved as they left the church.

“I’ll be getting on too,” Aziraphale said hastily. 

Father Layne seemed to want to say something, but not sure of what it was. Finally he smiled. “Well, now that I know there’s lemon pie, I might go over and have a slice. Would you like to come with me? Don’t take Grace’s word for it, it’s really very good.”

“I’ve never had lemon pie,” Aziraphale said.

Father Layne smiled. “Sounds like it might be time to do something new, then.”

oOo

The next morning had dawned bright and the heat of it was already rising as Tracy Shadwell sat at the kitchen table in Crowley’s flat, looking at her son over her cup of tea. “I’m feeling an epic _I told you so_ coming on,” she said.

“In my defense,” Crowley said, “the fact that this is actually happening does not make it any less batshit crazy.”

After debating with himself all night about how much to tell his mother, Crowley had called her that morning and asked her to come visit. Tracy lived too far away for Crowley to walk the distance, and if he took public transportation, the BLT would inconvenience anyone else on the bus, and possibly all of the surrounding traffic, so his mother always had come to see him. He was glad she had. Now her slightly overbearing perfume was filling his apartment with a comforting familiarity.

“Okay,” Tracy said, clacking her purple-painted nails on Crowley’s kitchen table. “So let me see if I have this straight.”

“Nobody in this family does anything straight,” Crowley quipped automatically, and Tracy rolled her eyes.

“Shut it. So there’s going to be an apocalyptic war between angels, demons, and humans, unless you win a fight with the Regent of Hell?”

“And there is no way that I can do that,” Crowley said darkly. “I met a demon. Met two demons, actually, but only one of them wanted to kill me, and I’m sure he could have if Aziraphale hadn’t stepped in.”

Tracy gave him a look that suggested that Crowley was not, at the moment, living up to his intellectual potential. “Love, why would Hell send a demon and a whatever that is again—” She pointed to Dog, who was draped over Crowley’s entire couch, his legs dangling gracelessly.

“Hell hound.”

“Right. Why’d they need to do that if you’re not a threat to this Regent? Why’d they have give you bad luck for 48 years?”

“But why send me a Guardian Angel if I don’t need protecting?” Crowley protested.

Tracy scoffed loudly. “Where is he, then? I want to meet him.”

“We don’t—” Crowley sighed. “We don’t really get along.”

Tracy snorted. “You can get along with a hell hound but not with an angel? Well, that’s just like you.” She drank the last of her tea and got up to pour more, her colorful skirts swishing around her ankles as she moved. One of Crowley’s cats followed her, sniffing at the skirt. “What’s he look like?” Tracy asked.

“Like an angel, I guess. Blond, blue eyes. White wings, though you can’t always see those. Dresses like he’s from the 1800’s, don’t know what that’s about.”

“So what’s he, an uptight fuddy-duddy? Sanctimonious? You never did get along with that sort.”

“Not sure he can help it,” Crowley said. “I think an angel’s morally superior to the rest of us just by definition. Although—” _Although Aziraphale might have taken a demon as a lover, along with any number of other beings, and he could probably make a lot of money eating pancakes for an audience._

“Although what?” Tracy asked.

Crowley was not about to answer that. “Have you told me everything about Dad?” he asked. 

Tracy gave him a surprised and saddened look. “You’re far too old for me to hide things from you now, love. He’s just what I always told you. A nice man. Completely normal, as far as I could tell, if that’s what you’re going for. He died in a car accident when you were three months old. And that wasn’t your fault, bad luck curse or not.”

She sat back down at the table. “When I was pregnant, things were strange. Weird signs everywhere. Your dad was a bit freaked out, but he stuck by me. We loved each other, and I’ve always been glad I have you to remind me of him.”

“I’m sorry, Mom.”

Tracy shook her head. “I’ve got the Sergeant now. He’s an odd duck like me, and we’re happy.”

“Did you believe in this stuff before? Before the signs when you were pregnant?”

“Enough to know that what I was seeing meant something. I educated myself more after that. I was never sure what prophecy fit best, but I knew something was different about you.”

She put out her hand and Crowley took it. “I don’t want the world to end,” she said, sounding that strange mix of practical and ludicrous that she brought off so well. “So let’s make a plan. First, you’ve got to get your angel back. If Heaven sent him to you, then he ought to be here.”

Crowley groaned. Dog lifted his head a bit at the sound, and Crowley went over to check on him. Dog still didn’t have much energy, but otherwise he seemed fine. Two of Crowley’s cats were curled up on Dog’s hips, keeping watch. “Right, but Aziraphale is…” Crowley wasn’t sure how to finish the sentence.

But apparently by now he’d given enough away, at least to someone who knew him so well.

Tracy gave a little gasp and put her hand over her mouth. “Anthony Crowley. You fancy him.”

“Mom!” Crowley protested, running a hand through his hair. “I do not _fancy him._ Well, maybe I do. But look, he’s an angel. People can’t help being attracted to angels, right?”

Tracy raised an eyebrow, looking quite amused. “You know, in the Bible, angels start every visit by saying _Do not be afraid._ They’re terrifying.”

“Well, Aziraphale’s not. I mean, he is, and he went all glowy and flamey and killed a demon yesterday. But mostly he’s just sort of...nervous.”

“And handsome.”

“I know what this is,” Crowley said. “It’s the BLT. It’s clearly bad luck to fancy your Guardian Angel.”

“Well, if the world’s going to end, I say go for it,” Tracy told him, taking another drink of tea.

 _“Mom.”_ Crowley sat back down at the table. As he did, the chair gave a groan and snapped a leg. Crowley went into the kitchen for the wood glue. The first bottle had dried up, so he grabbed the next one.

With the chair upended, Crowley asked, “Aren’t you in the least bit concerned that I’m going to die?”

“Well, if you do, we all do, so no.” Tracy sighed. “Anthony, listen to me. When you were a baby, you choked on things constantly. You fell off of chairs, out of strollers, you could undo the baby gates like anything, right down the stairs you went. The hospital nearly called the cops on me for child abuse a couple of times, and I wouldn’t have blamed them. I know it’s bad luck, but you have to admit that you also have a remarkable streak of good luck in your life. All those things happening to you for the last 48 years, and you’ve survived all of them. And I know why. It’s because you’re made for great things, I keep telling you. So when you say that you’re going to get killed by a demon, that sounds to me honestly no different from you saying you’re going to climb a ladder. We know it’s going to go wrong. But I’m a lot more worried about that poor demon than I am about you.” Tracy put on her most determined look. “Now. Your Guardian Angel will come back if you get into trouble?”

“Supposedly, yeah,” Crowley managed to say.

“Well, that’s certainly something you know how to do, dear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Father Layne returns! So I wrote a series called the ["Mr. Fell's Bookshop ficlet series,"](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1500449) and in the 7th ficlet, I introduced the character of Father Layne. He only appeared once, but he was a fan favorite, and I promised I'd use him again in a fic where there was more space to develop his character. So same character, different universe.
> 
> Also I love how Dagon came out in this fic, because they’ve managed to form some really healthy relationships. They have a good marriage with Beez, where they don’t keep secrets from each other, and Beez won’t tell Dagon they can’t have an angel for a best friend. Just as Aziraphale has accepted that Dagon 1. is Ace and doesn’t want a sexual relationship with him, even though it means they broke up, 2. decided to be a demon, and 3. fell in love with someone else, who happens to be the Regent of Hell. Dagon will not put up with anyone’s shit.
> 
> The "Deep One" nickname is a reference to Dagon as envisioned by HP Lovecraft.
> 
> And the “nobody in this family does anything straight” joke—Tracy & Shadwell are in some sort of straight-passing queer relationship. I like to throw those in because that’s what I have, and what my parents had.


	4. Chapter 4

Crowley had never learned to ride a bike, just like he’d never learned to drive a car. It was a rather pointless thing to learn because having the skill wasn’t going to keep him from getting into crashes. So he only had the general idea of what to do with the bike that he’d rented from one of the London bike-shares. Of course, all he really needed to do was to stay up long enough to fall off.

Crowley had taken precautions. He took them without a second thought at this point, but he’d been extra careful here, in case the Guardian Angel alarm thing didn’t work, because with his luck, it might not. Crowley was wearing a helmet, and padding on his knees and ankles. He had found himself a clear stretch of sidewalk to ride on, and that sidewalk just happened to run next to the emergency ward of a hospital.

Crowley had at least sent his mother home before the attempt. Partly to keep her from harm (his accidents had a tendency to spread to surrounding people), but mostly to keep her from meeting Aziraphale. Crowley didn’t want to share him until he’d sort of— _processed_ him.

Crowley adjusted his sunglasses, helmet, and padding, and gave a nod to Dog, who had found a lounging spot on a patch of grass by the sidewalk. “Right,” he said. “Here goes.”

It was actually quite fun to ride a bike, as it turned out. For a moment, Crowley wondered if this was what flying felt like when Aziraphale did it, a breathtaking glide through space. Then, of course, he fell off. Crowley landed all in a heap on the sidewalk with the bike on top of him, but really no worse for wear. He waited a moment before getting up. No angel.

Crowley wheeled his bike back to Dog, and with some hesitancy, removed his knee and elbow pads. Dog was more interested in whatever the grass smelled like. Checking his pee-mail, as one of the shelter vets liked to say. A squirrel had come up to introduce himself to Crowley, and he sat on a tree branch to watch the proceedings. 

Crowley gingerly climbed onto the bike seat again and took off toward the hospital. He got a little farther this time before he crashed. A bunch of strangers came over and fussed about his skinned knees, but still no angel.

It took Crowley a few minutes to be brave enough to take off his helmet and leave it with Dog and the squirrel. “Kind of defeats the purpose of having a Guardian Angel if you’re going to risk your life,” he complained. Dog just sniffed him.

But there was nothing else to do but try it. Crowley climbed onto the bike seat, careful of his injured knees. He took one foot off the ground and put it on a pedal, and he pushed off of the sidewalk with the other. The bike didn’t move. Crowley looked up to see a displeased angel standing in front of him, with his hands on the handlebars. 

“What do you think you are doing?” Aziraphale demanded. If possible, he was lovelier than Crowley remembered, all blond curls, soft curves, and angry blue eyes.

Crowley tried not to show how happy he was to take his foot off the pedal. “Hey, angel. Thought I’d check in.”

Aziraphale’s face flushed. “You were doing this to get in touch with me?”

Crowley suddenly felt even more stupid than he had before. “Uh— yeah? Not sure how else—”

“You could have just prayed,” Aziraphale snapped. “I’m an _angel._ I hear prayers. Or you could use a summoning circle, of course.”

“You might have mentioned that, then,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale looked remorseful as he pulled on the bike, taking it from Crowley. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t think I had to. I should have checked.”

“S’ok,” Crowley said. “No harm done.”

“You’ve scraped your knees.” Aziraphale pointed at them, as if Crowley might not be able to locate his knees otherwise. Before Crowley could say anything, Aziraphale was making him sit down on the grass and waving a golden-hued hand over the skin to mend it.

“Thanks,” Crowley said.

“You’re welcome.” Aziraphale looked a little calmer now, and he even reached out a tentative hand to pat Dog on the head. The squirrel vanished back into the tree. “What did you need to see me about?” Aziraphale asked.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

Aziraphale looked at him with some surprise. “I am too,” he said quietly. “You can probably tell I haven’t done this before, and that I don’t really have a lot of experience with humans. I’ve made such a mess of this already.”

“I haven’t helped,” Crowley offered. “Anyway, I thought we should probably try again.”

Aziraphale gave him a look that was so soft and hopeful that Crowley’s heart seized up in his chest. He had the dreadful feeling that he would do just about anything to see Aziraphale look at him like that. Well, wasn’t that a hell of a Bacon Sandwich?

“Do you want to get dinner?” Crowley asked. “Lots of foods you haven’t tried yet, angel.”

Aziraphale dropped his gaze and then glanced back at him in a coy sort of way that Crowley was sure was unintentional. Didn’t stop it from making Crowley feel a little too warm.

“That would be lovely,” Aziraphale said.

They had sushi. Crowley had a bit of an impish desire to see what Aziraphale would do with food that was a little more on the adventurous side. If he’d been hoping to fluster the angel, he was disappointed. Aziraphale loved sushi. He loved the fish, the rice, the miso soup, tofu, seaweed, eggplant tempura, he even liked the wasabi. He smiled through the whole dinner, completely unselfconscious about being inexperienced with everything.

And every once in a while, when he particularly liked something, he made one of those _noises_ again. And that wasn’t all— sometimes he picked up his napkin and dabbed a stray bit of sauce from his soft lips. Could Crowley really be blamed for the fact that he mostly ignored his own dinner in exchange for resting his chin in his hand and watching Aziraphale eat?

After the meal, Aziraphale walked with Crowley toward his flat. Aziraphale seemed more at ease now, watching the people go by. Crowley was distracted enough watching Aziraphale that he ran his hand over a bit of railing outside of a street cafe, and of course, it immediately broke. Aziraphale glanced over and snapped his fingers, and the railing replaced itself, good as new. 

“Huh,” Crowley said, looking from the railing to the angel. “That’s a neat trick.”

“It’s a miracle,” Aziraphale corrected him, sounding a little bit proud.

“So besides healing people and smiting demons, you can just do miracles?”

“Of course.” Aziraphale had a shy smile on his face and Crowley found himself smiling back. _That_ seemed to finally fluster the angel.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “So, um, what shall we, ah— what are you in the mood for now, I guess?”

“Well, I figured it was time you taught me how to fight,” Crowley said. “Get ready for the battle. And—”

 _“Oh,”_ said Aziraphale quietly. 

Crowley snorted a laugh. “Right. Of course. No fight training. BLT. I thought you were a warrior, though. Didn’t you have a flaming sword?”

The look on Aziraphale’s face made Crowley stop walking. “Angel, are you okay?”

“I gave it away,” Aziraphale said, so softly.

“What do you mean, you gave it away?”

Aziraphale looked so pained that Crowley put a hand on his elbow and drew him in closer. Aziraphale wouldn’t look at him, though. “In Eden,” he said, “I was supposed to stay in my place. Serve if called upon, you know, and if not, just guard the Gate, let no one in or out. I didn’t exactly keep to that— I mean, I hadn’t let anyone pass through the Gate, but I’d gone down into the Garden. I’d met them, Adam and Eve. They were lovely people.” 

He looked a little misty now. “I wasn’t angry at them for what they did, eating the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge. Lucifer had tempted them into it anyway, it wasn’t their fault. Everyone else was so very angry, though. Even God Herself. Adam and Eve were scared, and Eve was pregnant already. So I— I disobeyed orders. One day when no one was looking, I opened the Gate and let them through. I thought they’d be safer out in the world. But then I realized that there were vicious animals out there, and so I gave them my sword. I was supposed to frighten them with it. I just couldn't. But then the next day, of course, everyone noticed. Gabriel— the Archangel, my superior— he was terribly angry. So I was recalled to Heaven. Not allowed on Earth. Not officially allowed here until now, with you, but Dagon and I did have our little adventures through the years.” He finally looked up at Crowley, and his mouth was set into a firm line. “I’m not a good angel, Crowley. I can’t imagine why they trusted me with this.”

Crowley felt his mouth working, but it was a moment before any sound came out. “You...defied all of Heaven and God Herself to protect humans? Came between them and all the other angels? Jes— _Geez Louise,_ sounds like you’re the only real angel there is.” 

Aziraphale was staring up at him in shock. “That’s not—”

“You don’t want this war, do you? It’s not just Heaven’s orders. You still want to protect us.”

“Wanting to and being able to are two different things,” Aziraphale said in a shaky voice.

Crowley snorted. “Well, maybe it’s just me, but I feel a lot better having a Guardian Angel who’s not afraid to break the rules.”

That, of course, was when Crowley really knew he was in trouble, because Aziraphale was looking up at him like he might have hung the stars. Crowley wanted to pull the angel into his arms and lick into his mouth for the taste of sushi, breathe into him and bring those moans out of him until he forgot all about swords and Gates and Armageddon.

“Go on a picnic with me,” Crowley said suddenly.

Aziraphale blinked, rightfully confused by the suggestion. “A what?”

“A picnic. It’s food but outside.”

“Like on the sidewalk at the cafe?”

“No, on a blanket.” Crowley shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. I was just thinking that we should experience the world, you know. In case this is all there is, in case it all goes pear-shaped.” He grinned at Aziraphale’s bewildered look. “Angel, you’re going to love pears.”

oOo

Maybe it was right that the last few weeks of the Earth’s life passed by quickly. Good things always did, after all. 

Aziraphale did like pears, as it turned out. He also liked picnics and coffee shops. He’d been to art museums before and Crowley found that the angel loved bright, colorful pieces more than anything.

Crowley normally didn’t travel far from his flat or work as he couldn’t rely on transportation, but Aziraphale miracled them to the beach, where Crowley introduced him to the pleasure of eating ice cream while walking across the sand. (It did, of course, threaten to rain every time they went to the shore, but Aziraphale made quick work of that with a miracle.)

The first few days that Crowley had gone to work, Aziraphale had tried to come with him, but there really wasn’t a place for him to wait at the shelter, or anything to do while he was waiting. So instead, Aziraphale taught Crowley the proper prayer to use to summon him. Pretty much anything that started with _Aziraphale, angele dei_ would work. Crowley wasn’t sure if the Latin was necessary or if Aziraphale just liked being fancy.

So then while Crowley worked, Aziraphale read and visited libraries and occasionally quite distant places, as Crowley learned when he came home to authentic Chinese or Italian food or anything else Aziraphale had wanted to try. Plus the angel had apparently made friends with a priest and had started helping him with some volunteer activities. Aziraphale must have especially liked those, because he was always very upbeat when he came home from the church.

Crowley introduced Aziraphale to the music of Queen, which the angel liked very much, but which he insisted on calling _bebop_ for some reason. One night over dinner, Aziraphale surprised Crowley with a couple of miracled tickets to a Queen concert in London, and Crowley was so awestruck by the gift that he lost all charm and gestured to Aziraphale’s clothing saying, “You aren’t going to go looking like that, are you?”

Aziraphale wasn’t angry, though. He seemed amused, maybe even indulgent, and that look on his face did funny things to Crowley’s stomach. Aziraphale snapped his fingers and reappeared dressed in brown trousers, a checkered blue shirt, and brown waistcoat.

When Crowley redeemed himself by saying, “You look wonderful,” Aziraphale blushed.

Once after dinner at a restaurant, they stopped by a bookshop that Crowley knew in Soho. Crowley had thought Aziraphale entranced when he’d visited a museum or library. It was nothing compared to this bookshop. Aziraphale never wanted to leave, just to walk from shelf to shelf and read the titles, touch the spines, and occasionally look for a printing date. When Crowley offered to buy Aziraphale a book, the angel looked scandalized and protested that he would never break up a collection like this one. Crowley suspected the owner agreed, since it looked like he was only interested in selling the modern paperbacks at the cash desk.

Crowley gradually discovered that Aziraphale was, for lack of a better term, a romantic. He liked to be given presents, if they weren’t books that belonged elsewhere. But it was easy to get that angelic smile out of him with a box of chocolates or a collection of poetry. Crowley found that he himself was smiling more often now than he ever had.

Crowley was trying very hard not to fall for Aziraphale. The thing was, he’d never been good at avoiding falls. He knew he’d do no better this time, even if he was sure that the landing would not be a soft one.

oOo

As Aziraphale explored the world, he began to realize that he wasn’t alone in being new to Earth experiences. In fact, there were quite a few things that Crowley had never done, because of the bad luck curse. He’d never had alcohol. Never driven a car, never gone swimming, never ridden a roller coaster. Aziraphale thought at first that Crowley was afraid of getting hurt, but the truth was actually that Crowley was more worried that someone else would be hurt because of him.

It was easy to believe that somehow Crowley really was the savior of the world.

Crowley had bad luck down to a science. There was one knife in his kitchen, and it was kept in a sheath, in a drawer all by itself. When Crowley wanted to use it, he put on a pair of gloves of a very hardy material that resisted cuts. When Aziraphale wondered aloud about that really being necessary, Crowley pulled off the gloves to show him the multitude of scars on his hands from all manner of accidents. Crowley didn’t cook with heat, only by microwave, and he had two extra microwaves in his closet, even though he knew quite a lot about how to repair small electronics.

Crowley also had three cell phones and three wallets, all of which contained a little cash. No driver’s license, of course, and no credit cards, as those would be stolen when Crowley inevitably lost a wallet. He had three first aid kits in the flat, all fully stocked, although with Aziraphale around, he didn’t have to use them. He had dozens of pairs of sunglasses.

The first time Aziraphale had seen Crowley’s eyes was the first night they spent in his flat, after the sushi dinner. It had been a little awkward with the two of them, both sort of convinced that Aziraphale ought to stay, but not really sure what that would look like. It made things easier that Aziraphale didn’t sleep, of course. He’d passed the night on the couch with a book. But Crowley— Crowley had changed into a pair of soft athletic trousers and a loose blue t-shirt and removed his socks. There were scars on his feet and arms as well, of course, and one rather curvy one Aziraphale had noticed under Crowley’s right ear. When Crowley had seen Aziraphale looking he’d laughed and said the larger scars like that one were his version of tattoos, since the real thing was off limits to him, of course. Far too risky.

And then he’d finally taken off his dark glasses. His eyes were a beautiful shade of amber-brown. Aziraphale hadn’t meant to stare, but of course, he had, and Crowley had mumbled something about eye protection. And then he’d smiled again. Aziraphale was fast growing addicted to that smile.

And there was the animal thing. Aziraphale had a pure soul, all angels did. It might have been why Dog, as a tamed hell hound, seemed to tolerate his presence, along with the cats in Crowley’s flat. (Even after a few weeks, Aziraphale was not completely sure as to the exact number of cats that Crowley had. Aziraphale suspected that some of them came and went as they pleased.) But Crowley— anywhere he went, both tame and wild animals came by to say hello as if Crowley was a long-lost friend. Aziraphale was fascinated. When they sat on the beach, Crowley had a seagull on his shoulder and a crab on his bare foot. When he walked through the park he was joined by frogs, squirrels, and especially snakes. Snakes liked to curl around Crowley’s neck. Perhaps the strangest thing about it was that the animals all got along when they were with Crowley. No snakes ate the frogs that they shared a shoulder with, and Dog was utterly unfazed by all of it. 

Aziraphale understood it. He wanted Crowley too. 

The only reason Crowley could hold a reliable job was because it was with animals. Crowley didn’t work with the public at the shelter. He stayed in the back, processing and evaluating the animals that came in. None of the scars on his hands were from scratches or bites. What Crowley was especially happy about, he’d confessed one night, was that animals would take medication from him without complaint. The sooner they were well, the sooner they could be adopted.

The weeks flew by, but neither of them talked about time passing, or about the war. Or about a couple of other rather obvious topics between them, so Aziraphale was surprised one night when Crowley asked about Dagon. They’d seen the demon here and there as they went about enjoying the world. Dagon had been on their best behavior for most of it, thankfully. 

“So you were lovers,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale coughed a little and reached for his tea. They were having dinner at an Indian restaurant on a Saturday night. “Who, Dagon?” Aziraphale asked. “No.”

“Oh. I thought they said—”

“Dagon is asexual.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes at Aziraphale for a moment. “Oh. So angels and demons—”

“No, we’re all different. Dagon and I realized we weren’t compatible romantically but stayed good friends.” Aziraphale steered strictly away from mentioning Dagon’s marriage to Crowley’s future foe, and told himself that it was fine he’d never made Crowley aware of it, as they always steered away from talking about the war in the first place. Surely that was what they both wanted.

“So you’re not asexual, then?” Crowley asked, looking at the wall instead of Aziraphale. “You— do you have a— in Heaven?”

“A lover?” Aziraphale covered another cough by taking a drink of tea. “No. I’ve— the other angels—”

“Are assholes,” Crowley finished for him.

Aziraphale sighed. “That’s— I suppose.”

“And you don’t have a human lover?” Crowley asked, looking at the floor now.

“No.”

“Is that, um— is that allowed?” Crowley laughed nervously. “Not that you’re a stickler for the rules, but—”

“It’s not technically forbidden,” Aziraphale managed to say. “Of course, as an angel, I’d have to be in love—”

Crowley just said, “Huh,” and then looked down at his own tea cup for a while. 

Partway through the walk home, it started to rain. It took Crowley a minute to notice that he and Aziraphale weren’t getting wet. He looked at Aziraphale curiously, and Aziraphale pointed up and let the protective shelter of his wing shimmer into sight on the human plane, just for a moment. Crowley stared skyward with an amazed look on his face, and then his mouth turned up in that beautiful smile of his.

Aziraphale realized then for the first time that it wasn’t just that he didn’t want the war. Keeping Beez safe was important, and protecting humanity, yes. But it was much more personal now. Aziraphale couldn’t bear the thought of Crowley being hurt. 

Aziraphale felt the rain hit his wing and slide off of the feathers, and he felt the heat of Crowley next to him, sheltered and safe. Aziraphale hadn’t realized that he was staring at Crowley’s mouth until Crowley made a little noise and startled him out of it. Aziraphale couldn’t see Crowley’s eyes, he had those damned glasses on, as usual. But he had the feeling that Crowley was looking at his mouth as well.

Crowley took a step closer to Aziraphale, and the heat of him, the scent of him were stronger then, the dark shades of his clothes, the brightness of his hair, all of him alive and warm and beautiful. Aziraphale put a hesitant hand on Crowley’s shoulder, and a shiver went through Crowley. Aziraphale could feel the desire in him, the hunger to simply be touched. 

Aziraphale leaned in closer and got a face full of feathers. Not his own. Pigeons, he discovered, as he took a couple of startled steps backwards. Two pigeons had suddenly landed on Crowley’s shoulder, taking shelter from the rain along with them.

Crowley made a bit of a growling noise, but the birds seemed unimpressed. Crowley got that look of sad acceptance on his face, as if he felt this were another example of bad luck. Aziraphale was a bit more upset than that, but he tried to follow suit.

“Freeloaders,” he said snippily. “I am not an umbrella.”

Crowley laughed. “They probably like the wing more than an umbrella anyway. Come on, angel, let’s go home.”

It had become home, Crowley’s flat. For both of them. And Aziraphale would take every day of this happiness that he could.

There hadn’t been any other attacks by Hell. Dagon was working on Beez to keep things low-key. Whether or not Beez wanted the war, if Crowley died before their fight, war would be inevitable. Leaving Crowley alone at least gave Beez more time to come to a decision.

But Dagon and Beez still had no idea where the demon attacker had come from. Beez couldn’t stop what they hadn’t started. But it seemed perhaps that Aziraphale’s dispatching of the demon had scared off other attacks, at least for a while. Aziraphale had started to wonder if maybe he had done a good job of things for once. 

But of course, there was always going to be the BLT.

It happened the following day, a Sunday afternoon, nine days before the Equinox and the fight. Aziraphale had taken them to the beach again, one near a park. Families were out using the grills provided by the park, which made the air smell like charcoal and roasting meat. Crowley normally steered far clear of anything on fire, but Dog had gone off chasing a rabbit or something and Crowley had jogged into the park after him, calling him back. Dog turned and seemed like he was deciding whether or not to listen to Crowley, and then someone behind Crowley bumped into him.

It was over very quickly. Aziraphale had been standing some distance away, but at least he’d been watching. It took a miracle to extinguish the charcoal as it spread onto the grass, another to forcibly remove everyone else to a safe distance and turn their attention away. Crowley Aziraphale handled personally, coming down to the grass and pulling his unlucky charge into his arms.

The burns were bad. Crowley’s hands and arms were injured, along with a bit of his chest and his face. He fought Aziraphale’s touch for a second before realizing who it was and relaxing into his arms. Feeling that happen made Aziraphale feel stronger than he ever had.

Aziraphale calmly passed healing hands over Crowley’s body, feeling the pain ebb away along with the burns. When he got to Crowley’s face, Crowley was enough of himself to grouse to Aziraphale not to heal his cheek “tattoo,” and Aziraphale laughed and pressed a kiss to it as he passed it over. When he did that, Crowley shivered against him, and not from pain.

Aziraphale ended by running his hands through Crowley’s hair, ostensibly to clear the ash out of it, but really just because at the moment he had an excuse to touch. Crowley sat up in his arms, shooing his hands away and fixing his own hair (which looked no better for his attempt), and Aziraphale could do nothing but smile at him.

Crowley was well again, and safe, and beautiful, and happy. “Angel,” he breathed, “where have you been all my life?”

“Somewhere he couldn’t cause trouble,” said a voice, one that robbed Aziraphale of any feeling of power and set him shaking.

He pulled away from Crowley as quickly as he could, and stood up. “Hello, Gabriel,” he said.

Gabriel looked perfect, as he always did. A marvelous example of an angel. Tall and powerful, handsome, intelligent. Usually with a look of disdain on his face, which was there now.

“Well, Aziraphale,” Gabriel said in a booming voice. “At least I see you’re at least trying to fix your mistakes now.”

Aziraphale made a couple of nervous noises before he was able to say, “Yes. Ah— Crowley is fine, so—”

“He is _now._ But why did I have to come down here to make sure that the savior of the world isn’t burning to death on a beach?”

A sharp call of _“Oi!”_ interrupted them. It was Crowley, on his feet now too. 

To Aziraphale’s surprise, Crowley stalked over to Gabriel, giving him a look of displeasure, as if he found Gabriel’s appearance lacking. “Aziraphale is not to blame for the bad luck, that’s Hell,” Crowley snapped. He got a bit of a smile on his face that was not in the least bit friendly. “So you’re his superior, are you? Well, then, you’re exactly the one I want to talk to.”

Shockingly, Crowley pulled off his sunglasses, revealing his hazel eyes. “I’ve got a couple of questions for you, _Gabe._ Let’s start with this one: how many angels do you have?”

Gabriel laughed a little, clearly finding the question ridiculous, which was going to be to his detriment, Aziraphale realized with a thrill. “Around ten million,” Gabriel said.

“Ten million, right. And how many people in the UK were born on the day I was?”

Gabriel now saw where this was going and he paled a little. “Maybe two thousand.”

“Oh, I see. Two thousand. So why did it take you until now to get me a Guardian Angel? Why not assign one to every baby affected by the curse?”

Gabriel frowned mightily at him. Aziraphale had often been on the receiving end of that frown. He almost wanted to take a step back. Crowley, bless him, looked completely unimpressed by it, which seemed like it was throwing Gabriel a little. “Angels don’t walk around Heaven idle all day,” Gabriel said icily. “They have important work to do.”

“Yes, right,” Crowley said. “Guarding humanity’s representative in the Apocalypse is not important work, I understand. All right, next question. What the hell is your problem with Aziraphale? He’s here doing the best he can in a job he wasn’t trained for, having to deal not only with Hell’s attacks, but with the bad luck curse, and a complete lack of support from Heaven. And he’s the one you take to task for this mess?”

“Aziraphale should not have let you be injured,” Gabriel growled.

“Neither should you, _Gabe.”_

Gabriel cast angry eyes to Aziraphale. “I see I should have assigned someone else—”

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Crowley stepped closer, getting right in Gabriel’s face. “You’re not taking him off the job.”

“He’s incompetent—”

“Take a look at me, _Archangel,”_ Crowley hissed. He threw his arms out. “How do I look? Well? Yes? Healthy? Does that seem like incompetence to you?”

Gabriel had clearly run out of patience. “Fine! Continue!” he exclaimed. “But I’ll be watching, Aziraphale.”

Gabriel disappeared and Crowley shouted up at the sky. “The point was that you could _help,_ instead of just watching! Wanker.” He turned around to face Aziraphale. “Oh, how do you stand that guy?” He blinked in surprise. “What?”

Aziraphale realized he was staring at Crowley and had no idea how to stop it. “You want my help?” he asked in a voice that was a lot quieter than it was meant to be. “You don’t want another Guardian Angel, someone who could—”

Crowley’s expression softened immediately. “Aziraphale,” he breathed. “Why the fuck would I ever want anyone but you?”


	5. Chapter 5

Gabriel was not in a good mood. He was smiling, of course. But it seemed to be one of his icier smiles, judging by the way Michael was looking at him. 

“So things are fine with the human?” she asked.

Gabriel nodded. “Aziraphale’s doing a passable job.”

“Well, I’m glad you’ve shown confidence in him after all this time.”

Gabriel had gotten used to not scowling at jibes like that. Many in Heaven were unhappy with the punishment Gabriel had given Aziraphale after the Eden fiasco. They felt that if Aziraphale hadn’t Fallen for his transgression, that God must have forgiven him. Which meant Gabriel should have gone easier on him, not locked him away for 6000 years.

Gabriel tried for a warmer smile. “He’s perfect for it, actually. A Guardian Angel who doesn’t know much about Earth is much less distractible.”

Michael nodded. “You have a good sense for these things, Gabriel. I think you have more at stake, knowing Earth as well as you do. I just can’t help but believe that God would not want it destroyed. Before when She was angry with things and wanted destruction, we knew. It isn’t like that this time.”

Gabriel said carefully, “It’s hard to know what She wants. We have to follow our own consciences, I think.”

Michael looked weary, and she sat back in her chair, behind her desk, which was uncharacteristically messy with papers. “On to the next point of business, then. There’s word that there may be a faction in Hell wanting to rebel against Beelzebub if they decide not to push for war. That is the last thing we can afford. I want you to investigate this, please. We’ve got some communication lines with Hell, through the demons Hastur and Ligur and a few others. Meet with them discreetly and get back to me.”

“Of course,” Gabriel said.

He left Michael to her fretting, looking through her office window down to Earth like a shepherd who knew nothing of sheep. Trying to focus her energy on the innocent while ignoring the wolves ready to devour the shepherds themselves.

Gabriel went from Heaven directly to his next meeting. This one was on Earth, and it required a little more preparation than strolling into Michael’s office. 

A little ethereal magic turned Gabriel’s brown hair black, and his clear skin wrinkled with pockmarks and scars. His muscular body shrank inward and turned sickly, although he made sure not to lose an inch of his height. The most complicated part was staining his angelic aura to a threatening red hue, using a powerful spell based on the blood of several demons that Gabriel had personally killed for this purpose. The one thing that was nearly impossible for angels and demons to change was their eyes, and Gabriel thought his bright violet might be recognized. He put on a pair of sunglasses.

His arrival caused a commotion in an abandoned warehouse outside of London. 

“Lord Cornu!” one of the demons shouted. “He is returned!”

Several demons ran over to ply “Cornu” with wine and food, which Gabriel refused, as always. Even while pretending to be a demon, he couldn’t stand the idea of sullying his corporation with gross matter. He did take a seat in the throne they’d dragged into the place, and from there regarded his loyal servants with distaste. “What have you to report?”

“Planning is going well, my lord!” exclaimed one of the demons. Gabriel knew their names but refused to use them or even to think of them as individuals. They were the pawns he needed them to be, and nothing more.

“Have you been keeping close watch on the human?” he demanded.

“Yes, my lord. The human and its Guardian Angel.” The demon gave a shiver when he said the words, and Gabriel nearly did the same. _Aziraphale._ The little Principality was an unexpected and unappreciated challenge of a subordinate, stubborn and far too independent. Give him a little room and he’d turn all of Heaven upside down trying to do what _he_ felt was the right thing, rather than what he’d been instructed.

“And no one else has gotten cocky?” Gabriel asked. “I didn’t appreciate Alu taking the initiative to attack Crowley on his own. If Aziraphale hadn’t killed him, I’d have expected you all to.”

There was a chorus of “Yes, my lord.”

It had been a lucky thing that Aziraphale had dispatched the demon. Without Aziraphale as Crowley’s Guardian Angel, Gabriel would have had to appoint someone competent. Gabriel didn’t like letting Aziraphale loose because he would never be anything but a wild card. Still, as long as Gabriel continued to cut Aziraphale down, as he had been doing for six millennia, the emotional Principality would remain an easy obstacle to get by.

It was strange, though, how much the human Crowley resembled his irritating Guardian Angel. Stubborn, insubordinate. Talking to an Archangel as if Gabriel were another lowly human. Aziraphale had always been more subtle, disregarding orders without giving any notice ahead of time. Crowley was more brash about it, but he was clearly just giving voice to the kinds of things Aziraphale felt but would never say. They deserved each other, really. Gabriel was not going to miss them.

Gabriel looked about the room, at his gathered forces, and he felt a real smile cross his face. “The war will be glorious,” he assured them. “When this is over, you will be dukes of Hell under me, your King.” The fools were always so excited to hear that. “And what of the weapon?” Gabriel asked.

“It will be ready in time, my Lord,” one of them said. “By Saturday.”

Saturday was three days before the fight and War. That was cutting it close, but it had turned out to be even more difficult than Gabriel had imagined to get Hellfire out of Hell without anyone knowing about it. They’d had to settle for conjuring their own in the warehouse, which was complicated and took time. 

Gabriel should have put his demons to the task months ago, or even years, when he’d first started posing as Cornu and recruiting bloodthirsty idiots to his cause. But he’d always discounted Aziraphale in his equations, considering him useless. Then Aziraphale had smote Alu right out of existence, and Gabriel had been reminded that inexperienced or not, Aziraphale had been created a warrior. And Crowley— somehow he’d managed to turn a hell hound into a pet. It had almost been too late when Gabriel had realized that he’d need to take his offense up a level.

It was probably for the best, anyway. Let Aziraphale and Crowley think they were winning. It would only make them let their guard down.

Gabriel did hold the meeting with Hastur and Ligur the next day. They knew nothing of who in Hell might be leading a faction ready to rebel against Beelzebub and take the war into their own hands. Of course, they were looking in the wrong place.

oOo

Crowley was at work again, and Aziraphale was at St. Thomas Church parish hall, cleaning up after a free community lunch. The hall was messy, loud, and crowded with people chattering and laughing, and Aziraphale loved it. 

And oddly enough, they seemed to like him. In fact, Aziraphale had been shocked to discover that he had a bit of a talent like Crowley’s: where Crowley attracted animals, Aziraphale seemed irresistible to children. There was one on his back now, with her legs around his waist and arms around his neck as he wiped down tables. Her name was Anne, and she was six years old. A three-year-old named Jaime had taken a wash rag and crawled under the table, ostensibly to wash the floor, but he was mostly swiping at Aziraphale’s shoes with a soapy rag and laughing at Aziraphale’s pretend protests.

When Aziraphale was done with the table, he set Anne down in a chair and listened to her chatter about the new baby in her mum’s tummy, while Aziraphale unobtrusively cleared away the bit of viral infection that the girl had been fighting. And then it was on to Jaime, who climbed in his lap and didn’t notice Aziraphale checking to make sure his asthma hadn’t come back.

After that Aziraphale checked on Anne’s mother and her expected baby, and then made small talk with a mother while evaluating her newborn. He was small for his age, and Aziraphale wasn’t sure what to do with that except to give him a general blessing. He’d check the next time he saw the child to see if it was working.

When the people had all left the hall, Father Layne finished emptying the trash cans and then dropped into a chair next to Aziraphale. “I, ah, don’t know if you know—” and here Father Layne took on the tone he used when broaching that subject that neither of them would discuss overtly— “it’s actually unusual for parents to trust a stranger with their children like they do you.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale asked. He hadn’t realized. Well, too late for it now. “They’re lovely children,” he said.

“You’re very good with them, Aziraphale.”

Father Layne and Aziraphale moved on to cleaning the restrooms at the church. It would have been much easier for Aziraphale to miracle them clean, but he’d come to like the task, to like doing things for others in the human way, cooking and cleaning and serving, because those tasks gave him time to have conversations and laugh. The church and parish hall were becoming the second place on Earth that Aziraphale felt at home. The first, of course, was Crowley’s flat.

The men’s room was nearly done now, and it smelled of soap and a little of bleach. “You know, I’ve actually never been told that before,” Aziraphale said. “That I’m good at something.”

“You mean in your job?” Father Layne asked.

“I’m afraid my boss is rather critical. I actually wanted to ask you—” Aziraphale had to take a minute to get the words into his mouth, so he concentrated on rinsing the last sink. Father Layne had grown used to this by now, and so he gave Aziraphale the time he needed. 

“I had a thought,” Aziraphale said, “and it’s a strange one. You know about this new job they gave me. I, ah, met with my boss about it yesterday, and it was so clear that he thinks I’m completely incompetent at it. I guess I’m surprised I didn’t think of this sooner, but I can’t help wonder why he gave me the job at all. Unless—” Finishing that sentence took the time required to top up the soap dispensers. “Unless he _wants_ me to fail,” Aziraphale said.

Father Layne propped open the door to the men’s room to let it air out, and they walked into the much larger space of the church lobby. Even here, the light coming through stained glass windows made the room bright and colorful.

“Could it just be your boss’s leadership style?” Father Layne asked. “Cruel to your face but supporting you otherwise?”

Aziraphale gave a little laugh. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, what will happen if you fail?”

“Then the world ends, Father!” exclaimed a voice, and Aziraphale looked up to see Dagon holding open the door to the church and poking her head inside. Only her head, of course, her feet remained firmly on the other side of the threshold. She wore a bright red pantsuit today with black platform heels. Her fish scales were missing, so she looked more or less human.

“You aren’t funny,” Aziraphale informed her. “What are you doing here?”

“Missed you, darling. We need to have a chat, but I think you might already be having it.” She looked around the lobby with a disdainful kind of curiosity, then wrinkled her nose. “You chaps mind stepping outside for this one?”

“Yes, all right.” Aziraphale beckoned to the priest to follow him. “Father, this is my friend Dagon. She’s not, ah, fond of churches, I’m afraid.”

“But I _love_ priests,” Dagon assured him.

“Dagon, if you could please be less yourself for a moment, I would appreciate it,” Aziraphale sighed.

There were a couple of benches outside the church, and that was where they settled, Aziraphale and Father Layne across from each other, and Dagon perched on the back of Aziraphale’s bench with her feet on the seat.

“So, helping out in a church now,” Dagon said, poking Aziraphale in the shoulder with a gold-tipped nail. “How awfully angelic of you.” Aziraphale gave her a disapproving frown, and she laughed. “Aziraphale, you are kidding yourself if you think there’s any kind of subtlety to you. The priest knows what you are.”

Aziraphale stole a glance at Father Layne, expecting him to look confused or worried, perhaps in need of the _Be not afraid_ speech. But Father Layne had a kind of dazed smile on his face. “You’re a demon,” he said to Dagon.

Dagon grinned with delight and gave a little shake to her head, letting her fish scales come out bright and proud on her cheeks and forehead. Her dark hair was down and curly today and it bounced around her face. “Oh, I love this one!” she exclaimed, and extended her hand, which Father Layne shook. “Dagon, Master of Torments.”

“And you’re friends with an angel,” Father Layne said.

“Oh, we go way back, Aziraphale and I.”

“How wonderful,” Father Layne said, and then seemed to notice their surprised looks. “Oh, I’m sorry, it’s just— you know, the Bible is a book with a lot of wrath and bloodshed and terror. And I could just never reconcile that with my feelings about God, because when I reach out with my heart to try to touch God, all I feel back is love and acceptance. And so of course, I try to turn that outward into my community. But I was never really sure which was more true to God— the wrath or the love.”

Father Layne looked to Aziraphale. “I wanted to believe in Guardian Angels before I met you, but angels in the Bible are so terrifying. You walked in like an answer to my prayers. I halfway believe you’re _my_ Guardian Angel, coming here and showing me what angels truly are, so loving, selfless, accepting, serving others, performing healings. And then to find that love extends even between angels and demons—I’m so sorry, I’m making a complete fool of myself, but I think I’ve never been happier.”

Aziraphale felt tears in his eyes, and he turned to give Dagon a look that would hopefully tone down her response to something polite. Dagon rolled her eyes, but acquiesced. “I’m afraid we’re a little like humans,” she told the priest. “We don’t all get along. Not all the angels are nice people, and most demons aren’t.”

“When we have love we are,” Aziraphale said softly. “Aren’t we?”

“Oh, Satan, Aziraphale, you’re such a sap,” Dagon groaned, but she leaned her head into his shoulder. “Yes, fine. Loving an angel elevates my soul out of the gutter. Now listen, you two. What was this about Gabriel?” 

“Gabriel is my superior,” Aziraphale explained to Father Layne.

“Speaking of angels who aren’t nice,” Dagon muttered.

Aziraphale shot her a glare. “Yes, well. I was telling Father Layne that I saw him yesterday—”

“Let me guess, he yelled at you again,” Dagon said, with a rather menacing growl. “I cannot fathom what goes on in his little pea brain that he thinks it’s all right to—” She broke off and looked at the other two. “Right, yes, soul out of the gutter.”

“Actually, Crowley stood up for me,” Aziraphale said softly.

Dagon slipped off her perch on the back of the bench and fell onto the seat in a pile of legs and arms and platform heels. “Your human defended you to the Archangel Gabriel,” she said.

“At length. He was quite forceful,” Aziraphale said, looking down because he could feel his face blushing red.

 _“Well,”_ Dagon said.

“Shut it,” Aziraphale snapped. “Anyway, it just struck me— why would Gabriel give me this job when he has so little confidence in me? Why would he give me no support—”

“Fuck,” Dagon said. “You’re right.”

“Language, dear.”

“I don’t give a shit about language.” She had righted herself by now and she put a hand to her head. “Gabriel wants the war.”

Aziraphale gave Father Layne a look of sudden concern. “I wouldn’t worry—” he started.

“Yeah, it’ll be fine,” Dagon cut in. “We’re going to save the world, aren’t we, Aziraphale?” She waved her hand dismissively toward Father Layne. “Don’t worry, if we fail, it’ll be quick.”

_“Dagon.”_

“I don’t know what we’re supposed to do,” she protested. “Look, Beez and I can’t find the leader of the faction in Hell that’s working for the war. That’s what I came to tell you, we’ve exhausted all avenues. They’re too well hidden, we’ve had to give up, so we have no idea of the size of the resistance that will spring up if Beez decides to bow out. And if there’s also angels agitating for the war— this is going to happen, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale put his hands on her arms. “It won’t,” he said firmly. “Because, believe it or not, I am actually getting rather good at my job.”

Dagon gave a short laugh. “God help us. Aziraphale with a little confidence.”

“I simply refuse to let Crowley be harmed,” Aziraphale said.

Dagon looked up at him with concern. “Aziraphale— please tell me you didn’t. Oh, fuck, you did. He stuck up for you against Gabriel and you fell for him, of course you did, you blessed angel, oh fuck.”

Aziraphale’s face blazed red again. “You’re being quite ridiculous—”

“Why?” Father Layne spoke up. He gestured to Dagon. “If an angel can love a demon, why can’t an angel love a human?”

Dagon gave a short laugh. “Satan, you’re two of a kind. All emotion, no common sense.”

“Loving him isn’t the problem,” Aziraphale said. “It’s that Dagon is married to the demon who would be Crowley’s opponent. You see, there’s going to be a contest first, between one representative from Heaven, Hell, and Earth, and whoever wins can choose to trigger Armageddon or not. My charge, Crowley, will have to stand up for Earth, and Beelzebub from Hell. But Dagon’s torn now because she had considered Crowley expendable. As a last resort, of course, but if I care for him, that means she’s got to decide whether to break my heart or protect her spouse.”

Dagon growled at him. “You are way too fucking clever for your own good, Aziraphale.”

And that was where it the conversation went fully off the rails. “Uh,” said Father Layne, and Aziraphale glanced up to find himself looking at a very handsome, rather pissed-off red-haired man.

“Oh, this is is a fucking bacon sandwich,” Aziraphale breathed.

Crowley crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Seems like. I got off work early, figured you’d be here. Hey, Father, Dagon.”

Dagon gave him a wavery smile. “Hey, Crowley. Sorry about the considering you expendable thing. If it makes you feel better, I don’t actually want to kill you.”

“Makes me feel great, thanks.”

“But as I’m sure Aziraphale explained to you, Beelzebub and I—”

“Actually, this is the first I’m hearing of that,” Crowley said, and Dagon turned to stare at Aziraphale.

“I hadn’t yet mentioned that part to him,” Aziraphale confessed.

Dagon gaped at him. “I thought you said you were getting good at this job.”

“To be fair, I’m literally working against a bad luck curse from Hell,” Aziraphale reminded them.

“I thought the Regent of Hell was just some demon,” Crowley said angrily. “But they’re Dagon’s spouse? Dagon is married to Beelzebub and where does that leave me? You _love_ her—” He looked up at Dagon for a second and growled, “Are you she/her today?”

Dagon’s voice came out with a squeak of amusement. “Yes, thank you for checking.”

“You’re welcome. So whose side are you on, Aziraphale? Mine or hers?”

Aziraphale felt tears in his eyes. “There doesn’t have to be a war—”

Crowley sat down wearily on the bench beside Father Layne. “But there has to be a fight between me and— and _Beez._ In six days, Aziraphale. I know you hate to talk about it, but that’s never been helpful! It’s practically here!”

“I’m trying to convince Beez not to fight you,” Dagon said. “To forfeit, like Heaven will do. Except— well, maybe not _all_ of Heaven is opposed. Gabriel might be planning some sort of resistance of his own. Uh, we just figured that part out though, so Aziraphale hasn’t had a chance to tell you.”

“I wouldn’t have,” Aziraphale said quietly. He looked up at Crowley. “I thought I was protecting you by keeping these things from you. I didn’t want you to know it was as bleak as it is.”

Crowley groaned. “I heard you say you care about me, Aziraphale. I guess I can believe it, but it’s not what I thought— it’s not what I thought it might be. It can’t be, if you aren’t the _one person_ who sees me as more than a pawn in this game. Heaven and Hell have been playing with me since the moment I was born, but I thought _you—”_

He broke off as a crow landed on his shoulder and Father Layne gave a little jump of surprise. Crowley waved a weary hand at him. “Animals like me. Long story.”

“You see, the thing about Crowley,” Aziraphale spoke up in a teary voice, “is that it’s very difficult not to love him.”

Crowley stared at him for a moment. “I’m sorry I yelled at you, angel. I’m going home. Don’t come with me. I know how to reach you if I need.”

Aziraphale felt like it became a little painful to breathe, like the air was suddenly sharp. “Crowley—”

Aziraphale felt Dagon’s hand on his shoulder. “Go home,” the demon said to Crowley. “Rest up. We won’t give up on this.”

“I can walk with you, if you want company,” Father Layne offered, and Aziraphale was glad to see Crowley nod.

“You’re going to need a hell of a lot of good luck to fix this,” Crowley told them. “And I have no idea where to find it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel’s demon name, Cornu, is the Latin for “horn,” a nod to the tradition that the Archangel Gabriel has a horn


	6. Chapter 6

The days seemed an odd mix of faster and slower without Aziraphale around. Crowley’s flat was quieter and time there dragged by with Crowley sitting around just staring at stacks of library books and an empty couch. And yet somehow the time also flew, every hour bringing Crowley closer to the end. Bringing them all to the end.

Crowley wasn’t sure what else to do with his last few days on Earth other than to go to work. He wanted to spend time with the animals, even if none of them would ever be adopted now, even if soon there would be no more shelter. No more anything. Tracy called every day, and Father Layne dropped in on him a few times. Tracy’s optimism and Father Layne’s gentle confidence were ridiculous, but Crowley clung to them as hard as he could.

There was a fundraiser for the shelter on that last Saturday night, their biggest one of the year, a gala event. Black tie, fancy food, champagne, dancing to a live band, and a few of the shelter’s current furry residents making the rounds, to the delight of the crowd.

That was what Crowley was doing at the Convention Center that night, of course, what he always did at this party: taking care of the animals, behind the scenes. He’d never dared unleash a BLT on the crowd in the ballroom, not that he really wanted to go out and mingle anyway. He just hung out in one of the back rooms with the cats and dogs who were this year’s stars of the show. When it came time for them to put on leashes and work the room, one of the other staff members took them out.

At the moment, Crowley was sitting on the floor with a couple of kittens asleep on his lap, and a Great Dane had his head on Crowley’s shoulder. The dog was entranced with the kittens and its tail thumped regularly against the floor. They made up the usual furry guests for the fundraisers: kittens were relatively easy to manage and a huge hit with the crowd, and then Crowley always brought along whichever of the shelter’s current dogs were the most amiable and well-behaved. In addition to the Dane, there was an elderly Shepherd mix and some funny-looking short-haired spotted dog of a breed Crowley liked to call SFM, for small friendly mutt.

Of course, on the off-chance that he would have to go into the ballroom, Crowley was dressed in a tuxedo. He owned three. Well, two at the moment, he hadn’t yet replaced the one lost at the dry cleaners. Owning three was less expensive than renting one, because it invariably became damaged somehow before he could return it.

Crowley sat there, surrounded by animals, and felt afraid and angry and anxious but above all, _alone,_ and he didn’t want to be alone on Earth’s last Saturday night. Crowley had never really prayed, and from what he’d heard, God wasn’t talking to anyone anyway. So Crowley just sat there and listened to the Dane’s tail tap out a steady beat that didn’t quite match up with the music Crowley could hear coming from the ballroom.

And then he learned that apparently, needing to start a prayer with _Aziraphale, angele dei,_ was just Aziraphale being fancy. Or maybe Crowley's unofficial praying was just that strong. There was a little shift of the air in the small back room, and Crowley knew what that meant by now. He looked up to see an angel regarding him with a mix of nervousness and courage.

“Why is it me?” Crowley asked him. “I didn’t really think to ask that before— I mean, it makes sense, with the animals and the bad luck, I could believe easily enough that it _was_ me. But _why_ is it me? Why am I the one with the pure soul? If I didn’t know better I’d say the whole prophecy thing was part of the bad luck.”

“It’s ineffable,” Aziraphale said. To Crowley’s surprise, the fussy angel sat right down on the floor opposite Crowley and let the other two dogs come sniff at his face.

When Crowley didn’t say anything else, Aziraphale made another of his little nervous noises. “Um, looks like quite the party. Are you raising money for the animal shelter?”

Crowley nodded at him. “You’re underdressed.”

“Oh. Should I—”

Crowley pretended not to care about what it would be like to see Aziraphale in a tuxedo. “As you like.”

Aziraphale leaned forward a second, examining Crowley’s clothes, and then he stood up and waved his hand. It was a pretty good tuxedo for a first try. Trousers, coat with tails, cummerbund. Aziraphale was very fond of bow ties so that came out well. Of course, it was all a bright white. Crowley laughed in spite of himself. 

“Is it all right?” Aziraphale asked. 

“It’s fine, angel. You look— you look like you always do.” _Quite unfairly beautiful._

Aziraphale sat back down. “Would you like to talk about it?” he offered. “The fight, the war? I should have asked you that from the beginning.”

“I don’t know what there ever was to talk about,” Crowley admitted. “Can’t be changed, can it? This isn’t all your fault, you know.”

“It is possible,” Aziraphale said hesitatingly, “that all of this will work out for the best.”

“Is that angelic faith?”

Aziraphale nodded. “Of course, the thing is, you never really know what _the best_ means. Only God can see that. It might not look like the best from our perspective.”

“Do you have to try hard to believe that?” Crowley asked softly. “Is it work for you?”

“I think it’s all too easy. It excuses me from trying to change things.” Aziraphale met Crowley’s eyes, hesitantly. “I want to change things for you.”

The door to the back room opened and one of Crowley’s co-workers stuck her head in. “Crowley, we’re ready for the kittens.” She gave Aziraphale a surprised look. “Oh, I’m sorry, sir, members of the public aren’t allowed to be back here. We’ll bring all the animals out for you to meet, I promise.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, “dear, no, I’m Crowley’s—”

“Friend,” Crowley supplied, at the same time that Aziraphale said, “Date.”

There was a pause, during which Aziraphale’s face blazed red and he looked at the floor.

Crowley knew he was completely unable to keep a grin off of his face. “He won’t be any trouble, Courtney, promise.”

Courtney gave him a bit of a smile. “Fine. Kittens?” 

“They’re all rested up, so watch out.” Crowley clipped leashes to their tiny harnesses and handed them over. Awake now, they were immediately climbing Courtney’s tuxedo. She pleaded with them for good manners as she went back out.

“So we’re dating again?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale gave him a startled look, his cheeks still red. “We were dating before?”

Crowley stood up, scratching the Dane on the head as he moved away. “Have you ever danced, angel?”

“Danced?” Aziraphale squeaked as he got up too. “Um— I saw some in the ballroom. Looks complicated.”

“This is the last Saturday night of the world, and if this is a date, we’re definitely dancing,” Crowley informed him. “Come here.”

Aziraphale hesitated another moment, and then he stepped closer, close enough that Crowley could feel the heat of the angel’s body steal into his. Crowley let out a shaky breath and his hands moved toward Aziraphale. When the angel didn’t shy away, Crowley let his fingers slide slowly down the sleeves of Aziraphale’s tuxedo jacket.

Aziraphale swayed a little closer. Crowley couldn’t help but lean in as well, breathing against the skin just below Aziraphale’s ear, taking in his scent. He pulled back to see Aziraphale looking up at him with those blue eyes and Crowley put up a fumbling hand to push his sunglasses up onto his head so that he could see them better.

Aziraphale laid his hand on Crowley’s chest, as if he were feeling for his heartbeat, and gave him that wondering look, the one that said that Crowley was something precious that Aziraphale had never dreamed of finding. That possibly all of the things that Crowley had hoped for were true: that Aziraphale cared about him, that they were friends, that maybe they were more. That no matter what happened, Aziraphale at least would be there at the end just because Crowley wouldn’t want to be without him. 

Crowley swallowed. Dancing. They were supposed to be dancing. “You— you have to put your hand on my—” That was as far as he got because Aziraphale twisted his hands in Crowley’s lapels and brought their mouths together.

“Oh, fuck,” Crowley mumbled against Aziraphale’s lips, and his hands were everywhere at once, the soft curls of hair at the nape of Aziraphale’s neck, his shoulders, waist, holding him tightly against him like someone might try to come and tear them apart.

Though he doubted if anyone could. Aziraphale was holding Crowley’s lapels with a strength that was pretty obviously inhuman. It felt like if Crowley moved back the tux would tear before Aziraphale would loosen his fingers.

Aziraphale opened his mouth below Crowley’s and Crowley swept his tongue inside, desperate now, having settled on holding Aziraphale’s face between his hands at the right angle to kiss him as deeply as possible. And then— Aziraphale made that noise. The moan that dripped with pleasure, the kind of sound somebody could get arrested for.

Crowley pushed Aziraphale against the nearest wall with a groan of his own, finding to his immense gratitude that Aziraphale was as hard as he was, his erection pressing against Crowley’s hip.

Aziraphale kept moaning, the gorgeous, ridiculous hedonist, and Crowley was about ready to find the zipper of the angel’s trousers with his fingers and see what effect that had on the noises, when Aziraphale pulled back to look at him. His mouth was swollen and kiss-red, his cheeks were blazing with color, and his eyes were wide with surprise and pleasure.

“You taste like maple syrup,” he whispered.

“I had pancakes for dinner. I fucking missed you, Aziraphale.”

That made Aziraphale laugh, and it was delightful to feel him shake in Crowley’s arms. His hands found Crowley’s face and pulled him into another kiss. It was less desperate this time, slower, maybe hotter, if that were possible. Aziraphale was so soft, and his mouth was warm. There was an underlying strength to him that Crowley could feel in every movement, and there was a kind of energy sparking beneath Aziraphale’s skin, something wild and foreign. Crowley could almost taste it.

Crowley felt like he was in another world, another time, everything stopped. He’d never prayed before, but now he was learning to do something that felt awfully close.

But the dogs had started barking. Not just excited little noises at seeing people being all touchy together, but real, anxious barking. Crowley pulled back from Aziraphale and looked at them in confusion.

“Do you smell that?” Aziraphale asked sharply.

“It’s smoke,” Crowley said. “It’s—” It _was_ hotter in the room now, Crowley was sure of it. He looked up at the sprinklers in the ceiling, the smoke alarm on the wall, all silent. “BLT,” he whispered. “Angel, the ballroom. You’ve got to get everybody out.”

Aziraphale gave him an incredulous look. “I am not leaving you.”

“I’ve got three able-bodied dogs and we’re on the first floor. I’m getting out the nearest window in the next thirty seconds. They need you, not me. If the smoke alarms aren’t working, God knows about all the exits—”

Aziraphale waved a hand and the window beside them flew open, letting cooler air inside. Seeming satisfied then, Aziraphale met Crowley’s eyes for a second, and then he disappeared.

Crowley clipped the dogs into their leashes and led them to the window. The screen popped out easily, and the Dane went through with minimal help, he was nearly tall enough for it anyway. The little mutt was next, and when he leaped down to the grass, the Dane sniffed him carefully. They stood waiting while Crowley picked up the elderly shepherd mix. He could hear people now, coming out onto the lawn from the ballroom, and the Dane trotted off to join in the fun. Crowley had the shepherd in his arms when the window slammed shut.

Crowley did not think about bacon sandwiches. Not in the slightest. It was just a window without a bracing mechanism. Windows shut sometimes and that was all it was. He put the dog down and shoved at the window to reopen it. It wouldn’t budge.

Crowley went to the door, but there was smoke coming from under it now and the doorknob felt heated. So Crowley quite calmly grabbed a chair. He called the dog away from the window and swung the chair at the pane. It bounced off.

Oddly enough, it still didn’t quite feel like a BLT. Crowley swung the chair a few more times, with no effect. The window closing he could understand, but unbreakable glass? This wasn’t bad luck. It was an attack by Hell.

Crowley crouched down on the floor, away from the smoke, and coaxed the shepherd into joining him. The dog was whining, nervous, and starting to cough a little. Crowley regretted not putting him through the window first. At his age, he was the most vulnerable of the dogs. All Crowley could do now was to close his eyes and try out a real prayer.

_Aziraphale, angele dei._

_Aziraphale. Angel. Please._

Things got a little hazy after that. But at some point, Crowley felt arms around him, and after that, fresh air on his face. It made him cough, and he could hear the shepherd coughing too, but then it barked, and he saw it get up and take a few steps across the grass. Crowley sat up too. “Angel,” he managed to say, and then he realized it.

Aziraphale was lying on the lawn, not moving. One arm was still around Crowley’s waist where he’d been carrying him, but the angel’s pale skin and white tuxedo were stained black with smoke and golden with what must have been angel blood. Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s shoulders and shook him. “Angel! Aziraphale!” There was no response.

Crowley’s brain went through a few rounds of _He’s hurt, he can’t be hurt, he’s an angel, but look at him, he’s hurt_ before he could think more clearly. “Okay, fuck, I can do this. Um— _Dagon, demon, ah, daemonium, uh, Satani, Luc—_ fuck, Dagon, just get here!” he yelled.

He was startled to see her appear almost instantly, standing on the lawn in a pair of blue pajamas with little red devils on them, her hair up in a ponytail. “The _fuck?”_ she demanded.

Crowley felt a giggle rising in him, but it came out as a hacking cough.

Dagon had figured it out, though. She came down to her knees, leaning over Aziraphale. “Hellfire,” she breathed. _“Shit.”_

Crowley had to cough again before he could gasp out, “Hellfire? Did they—”

“He’s alive. Gimme a sec. This doesn’t, um—” She winced. “This doesn’t work well on angels, so manage your expectations.” Her hands blazed up with a red aura. Crowley expected her to pass her hands over Aziraphale’s body, healing the burns, but instead she slammed one hand down on his chest and the other tight around his neck. Aziraphale’s body jumped and then he took in a gasping breath. Dagon didn’t let go of him, despite how hard he was shaking, as the red energy from her hands spread over his body. When she let go, he fell motionless again.

But he groaned. “I already promised I...wouldn’t make you sit through any more tragic plays, darling. I’m not sure what else you want from me.”

Crowley had Aziraphale pulled into his arms before anyone could say anything else, examining his skin for burns. They were all gone, and Crowley dropped his head to Aziraphale’s shoulder with a sob.

Aziraphale was doing the same thing to him, though, checking him over. He had a hand on Crowley’s chest. “You’ve inhaled smoke.”

“Don’t, please, I’m fine. Save your strength.”

“I’m your Guardian Angel, dear,” Aziraphale said softly, and Crowley felt the ethereal energy flow out of Aziraphale’s body into his, not just from his hands this time, but from his whole form in Crowley’s embrace.

“I never thought they’d try to kill you too,” Crowley whispered. “I thought I’d lost you. Pushed you away and then lost you—” He cupped Aziraphale’s face in his hands. “I’m so sorry.”

Aziraphale kissed him. Just lightly, but it was enough to ground Crowley, to calm the shaking in him. The elderly shepherd laid its head on Aziraphale’s lap, and when Aziraphale petted him, Crowley could see his hand glowing golden.

There was a little squealing sound from beside them and Crowley turned to see that the Great Dane had bowled Dagon right over and was standing over her, giving face kisses. Dagon sat up and pulled the whole dog right onto her lap, which he overflowed by quite a bit. “Do you do adoptions to Hell? Because this is totally my new dog,” she said, resting her cheek against his head.

“Uh,” Crowley said. “Well, do you have any other pets? No hell hounds?” Dagon shook her head. “Okay, I’d need to have Beez meet the dog and see how they interacted, but—”

The conversation got even weirder when Dagon abruptly disappeared. Crowley figured out why a second later. 

“Hate to break up an intimate moment,” said Gabriel. “But how is it that I am once again finding you in the midst of a complete disaster, Aziraphale? Humans injured, a building burning with Hellfire—”

Aziraphale looked up at Gabriel calmly from his seat in Crowley’s lap. “I was seeing to my charge first.”

“Aziraphale saved all those people!” Crowley exclaimed. “And a dog.” He had to leave out the part where Aziraphale had been injured to keep Dagon out of it.

“And he nearly lost _you,”_ Gabriel countered. “But I have good news for you, Crowley!” He looked very pleased with himself, his gray scarf fluttering in the breeze. “I took to heart what you said before about Heaven not supporting you. I see that things are obviously a little too dangerous here right now for you to have an angel around, with him being a target as well. But your unique situation provides an opportunity for a replacement.”

Gabriel waved his hand and then on the lawn stood an absolutely gorgeous black horse.

Aziraphale gave Gabriel a look of confusion. Crowley just tightened his hands on Aziraphale’s arms. He could feel a BLT coming. “What do you mean _replacement?”_ he growled.

“Well, you’re good with animals,” Gabriel said, sounding a little confused. “And horses are useful for humans, right? Anyway, Aziraphale will be much safer in Heaven. So we’ll see you at the fight then, Crowley.”

Aziraphale fought it. He held onto Crowley’s arms with that inhumanly strong grip, and a faint glow rose up around him, around Crowley as well, binding them together. But Aziraphale had been injured, and the glow remained weak.

There was no time to say goodbye. Aziraphale disappeared and Crowley was left with empty arms.

oOo

Crowley got the animals safely back to the shelter. The kittens were fine, and the dogs agitated but unharmed. Crowley brought the elderly shepherd home with him for extra observation, and after Crowley had given him a bath, Dog made _almost_ enough room on the couch for him. The shepherd accepted the spot anyway, squashing himself into the cat/dog pile and falling asleep.

There had been some minor injuries to people from the fire, and the convention center obviously would need repair, but no one had died. Exits had indeed been blocked, but a man in white had opened them “miraculously” one by one, someone had said, and everyone got out. They didn’t know what cost the angel had nearly paid for their rescue. So few humans knew anything of what Aziraphale had done for them.

Crowley had called a friend with a stable who’d come to pick up the horse and house him. Crowley honestly wasn’t sure whether Gabriel actually thought the horse would be useful or if he meant it as insult to injury.

At some point Crowley got a little sleep, but around five a.m., after another prayer to Aziraphale had gone unanswered, Crowley started making phone calls. And praying in the other direction.

Dagon appeared in his flat dressed in jeans and a red t-shirt and wearing a beard. He stalked around the place, frowning to himself, and then waved a hand to slide Crowley’s furniture back toward the walls, leaving an empty space.

“Go right ahead and make yourself at home,” Crowley invited him.

Dagon just said, “Candles?”

Crowley snorted. “Are you serious? Me with open flame?”

Dagon frowned. “Oh, right. Well, that part can wait.” He started drawing a circle on Crowley’s hardwood floor with white chalk. 

Crowley’s mother walked through the door a few minutes later and peered at the art project. “Redecorating, love?”

Crowley waved a hand. “Dagon, Master of Torments. Dagon, my mom, Tracy Shadwell.”

Tracey carefully stepped over the chalk and sat down on Crowley’s couch, folding her legs under her brightly colored skirts. When Father Layne arrived a few minutes later, he was promptly fascinated by the sigils. He and Dagon spent time in discussion while Crowley locked the cats and the shepherd into another room. Dog could handle this, he figured. 

When Dagon was done drawing, he snapped his fingers and candles appeared at the perimeter of the circle. A wave of his hand lit them.

Crowley took a couple of prudent steps back, but he said, “Hang on, we’re still missing someone.” When Dagon gave him a reluctant look, Crowley just folded his arms across his chest. “You know this won’t work unless we’ve got everyone on board. Get your spouse the fuck up here. Now.”

Dagon made a face. “They’re not, um— social.”

“Well, Hell forbid we socialize before we try to kill each other,” Crowley growled. 

Dagon shrugged. “Be careful what you wish for,” he said, as his eyes went fully black and the flat started to shake. There was a cracking sound and then a flash of light that faded to reveal a demon with black hair and eyes, wearing purple clothing and a sash, standing in the middle of Crowley’s living room, just outside the circle’s boundaries. They were a lot smaller than Crowley had anticipated, barely coming up to Dagon’s shoulder.

“What?” they snapped. 

Dagon dropped a kiss on the top of their head. “Meet my darling spouse,” he said. Beez just growled.

Tracy asked, in a very polite voice, “Oh, so you’re the ruler of Hell?”

Beez peered at her for a second, before saying, “Regent. Lucifer rules, I just run things.”

Dagon snorted. “Beez rules,” he said proudly. “Nobody’s heard from Lucifer in ages. Same situation as up there with Aziraphale and You-Know-Who.”

Beez’s eyes had fallen on Crowley and the demon was studying him. Their face gave away no particular emotion, but Crowley let out a shaky breath when they finally turned away. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to know what kind of threat Beez saw in him.

“All right,” said Dagon, “let’s get this going.” He pulled Beez into a quick sideways hug and said, “Find a seat, love.” Beez just growled at him again.

Dagon started an incantation, of which Crowley occasionally recognized the words _Aziraphale_ and _angele._ After a moment, the candles blazed up a little bit, and a white mist rose up in the circle. But when it faded, the circle remained empty. Dagon frowned and repeated the process, saying the incantation louder. The white mist appeared again, and then disappeared, leaving nothing behind.

“Aziraphale!” Dagon snapped, looking up. “Get your arse down here!” He scowled at the other people in the flat. “This _should_ work. Even if Gabriel’s got him stuck up there, we should still be able to summon him. But something is resisting me. I don’t know what.” He snapped his fingers and the candles went out. “I’ll have to try it again later.”

“Well,” Tracy said, looking from her son to a priest to the Regent of Hell and their demon spouse, “may as well have breakfast then.”

Crowley and Tracy made microwaved mugs of scrambled eggs and french toast as Father Layne struck up an eager conversation with the demons. Tracy leaned over at one point and whispered to her son, “Doesn’t look much like the ruler of Hell. That’s who you have to beat? You can take them.”

Crowley groaned quietly. “Mom, no.”

The conversation between Father Layne continued over breakfast, and Crowley and his mother learned far more about demons than they’d ever wanted to know.

Beez seemed to be warming to Father Layne. “You know,” they remarked, “you’re not the first priest I’ve told secrets about Hell. They usually end up with me eventually. I wouldn’t take you, though. Don’t need do-gooders down there.”

Dagon snorted. “He’d make a far better angel. Got an unwavering faith in God as being good, even with all his questions.”

Father Layne just smiled. “I have faith in _some_ of God’s intentions as good.”

“And that’s enough for you, even as a priest?” Tracy spoke up.

“It’s enough to focus on,” Father Layne said. “Let me explain it this way: I look out from my church and I see the hungry. It takes a lot of time and resources to feed them, and while we do that work, I hear about other needs. People are sick, talents are undiscovered and wasted, children are bullied and abused. Sometimes when my hands hold a Bible, I have doubts and worries. When my hands hold donations to the food bank, I feel certainty. When we help people, I can _feel_ God’s love. So of course, that is where I focus.”

He smiled at Dagon. “Learning that demons and angels get up to adventures together intrigues me and seeing you so clearly love each other warms my heart. But I know that trying to make sense of that or the inconsistencies in the Bible is above my pay grade, and that’s fine. I don’t need to see the big picture because there is more than enough to do just with my flock.”

Crowley gave a little laugh. “I’m afraid today’s a big picture kind of day, Father.”

Father Layne nodded. “That it is.”

When they were done eating, Dagon snapped his fingers to clean up the kitchen, and then they gathered around the circle again. Dagon started his incantations. The white mist rose up. 

This time, when it faded, Aziraphale was standing there. He looked pale and tired in his brown waistcoat and trousers, but he was finally back where he belonged.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is an M-rated smut scene in this chapter. I marked its start with a note. If smut’s not your thing, feel free to skip.

Aziraphale looked around the flat at the people gathered there, until his gaze settled on Crowley. He was wearing blue jeans and a Queen t-shirt and he looked wonderful and well. Aziraphale watched him gingerly approach the circle, careful of the candles. He put his hand out to Aziraphale, and said the most beautiful words. “Come on, angel, come home.”

Aziraphale blinked away a tear. “I’m afraid I can’t.”

“That bastard discorporated you?” Dagon asked, in a furious voice.

“Well, it wasn’t as violent as all that. But yes, Gabriel separated me from my corporation until Tuesday.”

“If he even sets you free on Tuesday,” Dagon growled.

“We’ve other concerns at the moment, dear,” Aziraphale said bravely. He nodded at Dagon’s spouse, who seemed about as happy to see him as usual, which wasn’t much. “It’s good to see you again, Beelzebub. You look well.” He focused on Tracy next. “And you must be Crowley’s mother. I’ve heard lovely things about you.”

Tracy grinned. “I’ve heard bitching about you, but I didn’t believe a word of it.”

Aziraphale laughed, surprising himself. “I imagine you have. And Father Layne! Isn’t it a Sunday morning?”

Father Layne waved his hand dismissively. “I grabbed a rent-a-priest from the diocesan pool to sub for me. Even if the world weren’t ending, this is important to me.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said softly.

“We tried to get you here earlier,” Dagon said. “Circle didn’t work.”

“Oh, I’m afraid I was busy,” Aziraphale answered.

“Oh were you?” Dagon snorted. “Catching up on your reading?”

“More like snooping about in archangels’ offices, I bet,” Crowley guessed.

“You didn’t,” Dagon said, looking impressed.

Aziraphale had the feeling that he was giving Crowley a very besotted look right there in his living room in front of family, friends, and the leadership of Hell, but he wasn’t able to do otherwise. “It wasn’t really my fault,” he said, with a shrug. “I haven’t been there in a few months. Perfectly natural to get turned around and wind up in Gabriel’s office. And then I had a meeting with Michael, rather unexpectedly.”

Everyone started talking at once, but Aziraphale was only looking at Crowley, who smirked. “Angel, why not begin at the beginning, go on till you come to the end, and then stop?”

“An excellent idea, dear,” Aziraphale said, as everyone fell quiet. “Well, let’s see. I assumed you all would be trying to get me back via summoning circle, so I didn’t worry about that on my end. Instead, I hung around until I saw Gabriel leave and then I sneaked into his office. I’m sorry to say there wasn’t much there. No smoking gun, as it were.”

He flashed Crowley an amused look. “It will surprise no one, I think, to learn that I am actually quite terrible at sneaking about. Michael walked in right away and caught me. It was interesting though, because she claimed she was looking for Gabriel, but she didn’t turn the lights on, so I think she may have been there for the same reason I was.

“In any case, we compared notes. Michael wasn’t aware that I’d been removed from my post and so helpfully replaced with a horse.” He sighed, trying to think of how to phrase the next part. “Michael makes a good Archangel. She’s unemotional, and that makes her very fair. But she also operates on the assumption that everyone is being straightforward with her, which is fine if you’re dealing with other… _good_ angels.”

“And not Gabriel,” Dagon said.

Aziraphale shook his head. “No, not Gabriel. To her credit, back when all this started, Michael came to a compassionate decision and stuck to it. You see, everyone knows the prophecy: the fight, the possibility of Armageddon. It’s part of long-term Heavenly and Hellish tradition, and you can find pieces of it here and there on Earth. The thing is, it’s abrupt. Years and years of peace and then suddenly war? That sort of thing, unprovoked chaos, is a very hard idea for Michael to handle. She likes Heaven, she likes the humans, and she tolerates Hell well enough that she doesn’t feel provoked toward war. And so when God and the Metatron were silent about it, she was happy to say that Heaven couldn’t get involved.

“But as the years went on, she started to get nervous about it, because things began to go wrong. We couldn’t find Crowley. Hell couldn’t either, but they had a solution— the bad luck curse. Michael had nothing. So she came to the archangel with the most experience on Earth— Gabriel— and gave him the task of overseeing this. But then he also came up with nothing. 

“Michael is a good angel,” he repeated softly. “She has faith in God and other angels. It didn’t occur to her until far too late that any of what she heard from Gabriel could be lies.” His voice fell quiet, despite his best intentions. “I told her that I thought Gabriel picked me as Guardian Angel because he wanted me to fail. That he’d undermined me when I surprised him by being successful. That after Crowley and I survived the Hellfire attack, Gabriel took me off the job and discorporated me. 

“Michael believed me, because she’d found evidence of it on her own.” He looked around the room, wishing he could soften the news. “Gabriel is gone. We don’t know where. But he isn’t alone. Other angels have left too. Not a huge number, but enough.” He nodded at Beez. “You at least know there is a faction in Hell that will push for war whether you want it or not. You just don’t have its leader. Michael had no idea she was facing the same thing. Gabriel must have been meeting with them for years right under her nose. And so the fight—” He looked at Crowley, standing so close but untouchable. “The fight is more complicated than we thought.”

“We can’t let this happen,” Dagon said. “We can’t have a war, I don’t want a war, but that doesn’t matter. Beez, you can’t fight both Crowley and an angel—”

“I’m afraid there’s more to it than that,” Aziraphale said, trying to land this second blow as lightly as he could. “Michael told a lie. I don’t think she’s used to doing that, and maybe that’s why no one caught it. Like I said, everyone knows the prophecy, it’s everywhere, but the original is kept in Heaven. Now, I’d never seen a copy that was complete, they’re usually fragmentary. But what I had noticed is that nowhere do the copies ever mention any names. It’s just “the angel” and “the human with the pure soul” and “the demon.” But Michael’s the head administrator in Heaven, so when she talked about it being her and Beelzebub, everyone believed it.”

Dagon stared at him. “It doesn’t mention Beez by name?”

Aziraphale shook his head and Dagon gave a sudden laugh of relief. He turned to his spouse, who was perched on one of Crowley’s dining room chairs, and was clearly surprised to see them looking saddened. “It has to be me,” Beez said.

“Aziraphale just said it doesn’t.”

“I’m the most powerful demon in Hell,” Beez said, “absent Lucifer, who is clearly absent. If Hell wants a say in Armageddon, it has to be me. It sure as fuck isn’t going to be whoever’s leading this revolution against me.”

“And it has to be Crowley,” Aziraphale said, carefully, because the words were sharp. “You’re the only human with a pure soul.”

Crowley gave him what was supposed to be a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, angel. It is what it is.”

Tracy spoke up from the couch. “Does Gabriel know it doesn’t have to be Michael?”

Aziraphale nodded. “Michael is very trusting, she told her closest compatriots. Gabriel knows that if he can manage to override Michael’s rule, he can step in for Heaven in the fight. To stop him, Michael plans to put out wards blocking Gabriel away. He won’t be able to get close. But we can’t similarly block the leader of Hell’s rebellion because we still don’t know who it is.”

They looked to Beez, but the demon was quiet now, because Dagon was sitting on the floor with his face pressed into their lap and quite clearly silently crying. Beez was running their fingers through his hair. 

“Deep One,” they said softly, “look at me.” Dagon raised his head and Beez leaned in to kiss his mouth. They gave him the softest look Aziraphale had ever seen on Beez’s face. “I won’t,” they said. “All right? If it comes down to just me and Crowley, I’ll step aside.” They looked up at the crowd. “This isn’t supposed to be the way the War goes. It’s supposed to be clean, simple. Heaven against Hell against humans. Not Heaven and Hell fighting themselves internally. I can’t see the victory easily like this. I’ll focus on suppressing whatever this is from Hell and let Heaven sort out their own baggage. We’ll catch you all at the next Armageddon.”

Dagon had immediately put his face down again with an audible sob this time, and Beez stroked through his hair.

Aziraphale looked through tears at Crowley, who said what Aziraphale knew he would. “It won’t work.”

Beez raised a displeased eyebrow. “Why not?”

“Because it never does,” Crowley said. “Whether or not it’s the bad luck curse— thanks for that by the way— it just can’t be that simple. I appreciate your not wanting to kill me, Beez, and believe me, I’m sure as fuck not wanting to try to fight you, but I’d bet my last two days that we’re missing part of the puzzle somewhere. So just— be prepared.”

There was quiet for a while, and then Father Layne asked, “What can we do?”

Aziraphale gave him what he hoped was a brave smile. “Um, Father, I’m glad you’re here, because there’s something I need to tell you. I wasn’t actually planning to, but now I think needs must. You see, before I met you, I was sure that God hadn’t talked with anyone for ages. But actually, as it turns out, I’m fairly certain that She quite regularly talks with you.” 

To Father Layne’s wide eyes, he said, “I’ve heard you mention that certainty that you feel about serving God when you’re cooking meals and cleaning bathrooms, or when it rains and you drive over to the school with that crate of shoes the church bought to see if anyone needs a pair that will keep their socks dry on the way home. At those times, you really do feel Her, so strongly that _I_ can feel Her in you, guiding you. I don’t think She uses words with you, but however She speaks, you are very good at hearing Her. I can’t begin to imagine what role God might have planned for you in all this, Father, but I don’t think it was an accident that we met.”

Father Layne was staring at him, and he jumped slightly when Tracy put her hand on his shoulder. “Well, that’s a lot, love, isn’t it?” she asked. “Come on, we’ll go for a cup of tea, let the chosen ones sort themselves for the moment.”

Father Layne nodded. Tracy kissed Crowley’s cheek and they left. 

Beez and Dagon had stood up as well, and Dagon had his arms wrapped around his spouse. “I have to take him home,” Beez said with a roll of their eyes. “He’s useless like this.”

“Wait a minute,” Crowley said. “You’re not just going to leave Aziraphale in there? You’re the Regent of Hell, surely you can re-corporate somebody.” When Beez just frowned at him, he said, “Now look, you saddled me with a bad luck curse and still might end up killing me on Tuesday. The least you can do is break my angel out of Heaven so that I can get some snogging in before the world ends. Call it a last request.”

Dagon immediately burst into almost hysterical giggles, muffling them against Beez’s shoulder. 

Aziraphale felt his face blaze bright red. “You couldn’t have just asked for your Guardian Angel to protect you?” he hissed. Crowley gave him an entirely too attractive grin.

Beez was glaring at them both. They snapped their fingers and Aziraphale felt like he’d been given a push. He fell through the barrier of the circle and Crowley just managed to catch him before he ended up on the floor. Beez didn’t give them a second look, just growling about Dagon being a disgrace to all Hell, and then the two of them vanished.

Aziraphale looked up at Crowley with a little nervous laugh. “Hello, dear.”

Crowley steadied him in his arms. “Are you okay?”

“Better now.”

“Um— sorry about the snogging thing.”

Aziraphale looked up at him in surprise. “You are?”

“No, not in the least.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Oh, thank goodness.”

oOo

Aziraphale liked human food. He’d hardly met a variety he didn’t like in the three months he’d known Crowley, and they’d sampled quite a few things. What tasted better than any of that, of course, was Crowley himself.

Aziraphale had straddled his lap on the couch, his knees on the outside of Crowley’s thighs, and he was tasting Crowley, deeply and endlessly. Crowley had his hands on Aziraphale’s cheeks, holding him steady so that Crowley could taste him back.

Aziraphale wasn’t shy about voicing his appreciation for this most delicious pleasure, and at one particularly loud moan, Crowley shuddered against him, and pulled away from the kiss, resting his forehead against Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Fu—fudge, angel,” he groaned. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

“Let me find out?” Aziraphale asked with a smile, lifting Crowley’s chin until he could see his hazel eyes. 

Crowley gave him a kind of hopeful look that Aziraphale had never seen on his face before. Especially with the sunglasses gone, Crowley was open to him right now in a way Aziraphale hadn’t dreamed of. “You won’t Fall for it?” Crowley asked.

“Not a chance,” Aziraphale told him, with great pleasure. He kissed Crowley softly, and Crowley gave a little gasp against his mouth. Aziraphale kissed his cheek, the line of his jaw, the scar-tattoo beneath his ear. “I loved you the first time we had popcorn at that street fair.”

Crowley laughed. “Popcorn really did it for you, huh?”

Aziraphale pressed a kiss to his throat and then down farther. “Oh, I loved you before that. I loved you when we went to the beach for the first time. And before that, when it rained and we stayed the day in the library. And before that, at our picnic.” He pulled back to see Crowley gazing up at him with dazed surprise. “Too much before that,” Aziraphale sighed, “and I’m afraid I thought you were awful and I never wanted to see you again.”

Crowley laughed, and he pulled Aziraphale into an embrace. “Likewise, angel. But you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I know that’s not saying much, but—”

“I’m honored,” Aziraphale assured him.

Crowley kissed him again. “I love you, Aziraphale. And if this is all there is for me, if this is the last thing I have— it’s enough.”

Aziraphale most definitely did _not_ cry to hear someone say something like that to him, but he did allow Crowley to shift Aziraphale off his lap and lead him into the bedroom. 

*****

_M-rated smut scene:_

The afternoon sunlight spread golden across the bed, and Crowley tugged Aziraphale down with him and this time when they kissed, it was with their whole bodies. They pretended they had time, and took that time, undressing each other slowly and with care. Crowley had scars everywhere, and a way to tell about each of them that came out funny, and while he spun his stories, Aziraphale kissed and tasted the marks. Eventually, he worked down Crowley’s body enough to reach his hips, and denied his hunger no longer, taking Crowley into his mouth.

Crowley cried out as Aziraphale surrounded him with warm wet heat and a curious tongue. When Crowley released into his mouth, Aziraphale lingered on the novel taste.

Crowley grabbed for Aziraphale, holding him close and then rolling them on the bed so that Aziraphale was beneath him. “I want you inside me,” Crowley whispered.

“Oh, that sounds lovely, darling. But, um, I’ve actually never—”

Crowley grinned down at him. “Oh, well then, I guess I’ll have to show you how it’s done.”

Aziraphale let Crowley explore his body this time. Aziraphale didn’t have scars, but he did have a belly button and Crowley found that ridiculous, especially when Aziraphale tried to explain that the reasoning behind it was ineffable.

Crowley worked his fingers in Aziraphale slowly, and Aziraphale made a terrible student, losing himself quickly in the pleasure of it. He heard Crowley give a low laugh and then he hit a spot with his fingertips that had Aziraphale moaning as loud as he ever had. Crowley stopped laughing, and took Aziraphale’s cock in his hand, and then in his mouth to work the angel through his imminent orgasm. 

Aziraphale had never felt pleasure as intense as he found in Crowley’s arms. His body welcomed Crowley inside him and around him, Crowley’s hands with a tender touch, his mouth soft and warm on his skin, Crowley’s hips driving with much less gentleness right where Aziraphale needed. It was sweet and desperate all at once, loving and lustful, giving and taking. Aziraphale understood it then, what Crowley had said. If it really was going to be the end of everything, this would be enough.

They ate snacks in bed after and Aziraphale miracled away the crumbs, and then he had a lovely time pretending he still had no idea how to make love to Crowley, and Crowley had to show him all over again. When Aziraphale finally sank himself into Crowley’s body as Crowley wanted so desperately, Aziraphale felt himself respond in a way that he hadn’t expected. His angelic glow rose up and surrounded them, and his wings felt heavier, flickering in and out of the human plane. Crowley needed this, Aziraphale realized, he needed to be cared for. He wanted to be touched and kept safe. 

Crowley was supposed to save the world. He didn’t think he could, but he was going to try anyway. He always did, he always tried. He worked so hard to keep everyone safe. Aziraphale understood it. He was a terrible Guardian Angel. But he also wanted to try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, folks, the next chapter's the last one! It will post Saturday, May 30. Let's save the world, shall we?


	8. Chapter 8

The end of the world was scheduled to take place on a Tuesday morning at 8 am at an airbase outside of Tadfield. Aziraphale miracled them there around 7:30, along with Crowley’s mother and Father Layne. Dog came along, too. He was the only one who was excited to be there.

Crowley had slept well the night before, which was a little odd, as he doubted that even a day and a half’s worth of sexual exhaustion could produce a good night’s sleep the night before the end of the world. He suspected that there had been a little bit of angelic interference. After spending another evening fu—ah, _having_ Crowley, Aziraphale had drawn him into an embrace that glowed a soft gold and Crowley had woken up this morning still in his arms.

Crowley wasn’t sure Aziraphale had gotten any rest, though. The angel was looking around the empty tarmac like he missed his sword.

Tracy, of course, didn’t look nervous. But she fussed over Crowley anyway, going so far as to take his sunglasses away and clean them on her skirt. “Did you eat breakfast?” she asked, and Aziraphale assured her that he had.

Father Layne looked determined. He offered them a blessing, and as he gave it, he seemed to relax. 

In a flash of light, another angel appeared, tall and dressed in a modern white pantsuit. 

“Michael,” Aziraphale told them.

“So this is humanity’s representative,” Michael said to Crowley.

Crowley put out his hand for her to shake. “Anthony Crowley, savior of the world. Nice to meet you. My mother, Tracy, and our friend, Father Layne.”

“Christopher,” Father Layne said, which was how Crowley learned his first name.

Michael glanced down at where Crowley’s hand was entwined with Aziraphale’s, but she didn’t remark on it.

Soon after, there was another flash of light which faded to reveal Dagon and Beez. Beez was all in black now, with a red sash over their shoulder. Dagon wore a red dress and still towered over her spouse in a pair of spike heels. Aziraphale had warned everyone that his friendship with Dagon was not known to anyone in Heaven or Hell except Beelzebub, so they only nodded at each other politely. If Michael thought it odd that Dog bounded over to greet Hell’s representatives like they were old friends, she didn’t say that either.

Gradually, the place started to sound louder, without changing appearance at all. Aziraphale reached up and gently ran his finger beside Crowley’s eye, beneath his sunglasses. Crowley was startled to see that they were surrounded by misty groups of angels on one side and demons on the other. Aziraphale must have clued in the other humans too, because Crowley heard his mother gasp.

 _“Geez Louise,_ Aziraphale, you didn’t tell me there would be an audience,” Crowley whispered.

“They aren’t actually here, they’re just watching from Heaven and Hell. And anyway, don’t worry, dear, you look marvelous,” Aziraphale said with a fond smile.

“Wasn’t really worried about my clothes,” Crowley said. Which wasn’t strictly true. Crowley had held a debate with himself this morning about whether or not one ought to wear a tuxedo to the end of the world. He had decided against it in the end, and just had on his jeans and the Queen t-shirt he’d bought at the concert Aziraphale had taken him to.

Crowley had told himself not to mark the time on Aziraphale’s pocketwatch, not to count the minutes ticking away until 8. So he didn’t. He just looked at Aziraphale and tried to make him smile, because that was what was worth saving in the world.

You could feel it when it was time. Somehow the air was different, heavier. Those of them who were actually present at the airbase had gathered in a sort of circle on the tarmac, and now Michael stepped forward. “In the contest of Heaven versus Hell versus Humanity, Heaven withdraws,” she announced. “We will fight no war.”

There was a great shouting at that from the watching angels and demons, but none of them broke through the barrier onto the tarmac. The angels quieted down before the demons, so it seemed that those of them still in Heaven accepted Michael’s decision.

And there was no Gabriel. He must not have been able to break through the wards Michael had set around the airbase to keep him out. Crowley felt Aziraphale relax just a bit beside him. It was almost a shame, because Crowley had a great deal of things he still wanted to say to the Archangel Fucking Gabriel. But those could wait for another time. Assuming, of course, that there would be another time.

Beez stepped forward next. Dagon stayed where she was, but Crowley could read the tension in her form. Beez spoke as if the whole thing were a boring waste of their day. “In the contest of Hell versus Heaven versus Humanity, Hell withdraws.”

Crowley knew his mother had been unimpressed with the appearance of the Regent of Hell, and to be honest, Crowley had felt similarly. Beez was tiny and grumpy and almost cute. But in all fairness, they hadn’t yet seen them put down a rebellion from Hell.

Beez didn’t get any bigger. And yet now Crowley had the impression that something about them was terribly large and monstrous. There seemed to be a great deal of teeth and wings and definitely some claws, and beneath that, the real scary stuff, something red and pulsing and sickening.

It was kind of funny to watch everyone’s reactions. Crowley himself was completely terrified and desperately hoping that what Beez was doing was going to work, because if he had to face _that_ in a fight, then this was obviously the last day of his life. Tracy looked rather the same, having lost her cool for the moment.

Father Layne, of course, just peered at the sight with an open curiosity.

Aziraphale and Dagon, however, had clearly seen it before. The angel looked over the scene between Hell and its Regent like he might want a box of popcorn. Dagon looked so proud that she might break into cheers.

The shouting from Hell didn’t die down right away. Beez turned to fully face their audience and took a couple of measured steps toward them. Whatever it was in them that was monstrous seemed to flap its wings and Crowley could almost feel the wind it generated. Beez started to glow a strange silvery color, and for whatever reason, the sight of it turned Crowley’s stomach. He looked away quickly and realized that his mother and Father Layne were doing the same.

The tarmac gradually grew quiet. When Crowley looked back, Beez seemed to exist in only one dimension again. Dagon clearly wanted to rush over and pick them up and squeeze them, but apparently, being spouse of a Regent at an official function required too much decorum, so she just kind of bounced on her heels.

And that was that. Except, of course, it wouldn’t be. There was no way they weren’t all going to eat bacon sandwiches for brunch.

Crowley stepped forward, ready to make his announcement and officially close the contest, but there was another flash of light and someone else appeared on the actual tarmac. A demon, tall and stick-thin, but imposing. He was surrounded by a group of other demons who seemed to be his subordinates.

But if this was the leader of Hell’s rebellion, he wasn’t doing a very good job of it. Instead, he was looking around like he might be lost. He gave a nervous laugh. “Oh, were we supposed to watch via occult energy? I’m so sorry.” He made a few anxious hand signals at his group. “Come on, guys, let’s get out of the way.”

But instead of obeying him, one of the demons strode forward into the circle. He had a funny mouth that looked too big for his body, but other than that he wasn’t very frightening. He suddenly had a sword, and he raised it and declared, “I accept the challenge for Hell!”

There was a loud shouting at this. Beez stayed in their own body this time, but they looked absolutely murderous. They started forward toward the interloper. The new demon looked just as shocked. He had a sword too, and he rushed after his errant follower. 

He was closer to the circle than Beez.

Aziraphale caught onto it right before it happened. He let go of Crowley’s hand and rushed forward, shouting, _“No!”_

It was too late. The demon leader’s sword impaled his follower, who sank to the ground in a rapidly growing pool of black blood.

Crowley raced up to pull Aziraphale away, but whatever had happened, the damage was done, he could tell by how Aziraphale slumped in his arms.

“Gabriel,” Aziraphale whispered to him. “That’s Gabriel, it has to be.”

Crowley stared as the demon yanked his sword back out of Hell’s apparent representative. The other demons he’d come with were staring as well. “Lord Cornu!” one of them cried. “What did you do? Why did you tell Gamigin to do that?”

 _Lord Cornu’s_ disguise melted away and Gabriel stood on the tarmac, angelic and proud. He gave them all a rather vicious smile. “I accept the challenge,” he said loudly. “For Heaven. And I’ve just won against Hell.” He turned toward Crowley. “So it’s you and me, human. Even your joke of a Guardian Angel can’t help you now.”

oOo

It made Aziraphale sick to see Gabriel standing there in victory. Aziraphale had been so close, but still too slow.

“He changed his aura to a demonic one, probably with some sort of spell,” Aziraphale told Crowley. “That’s how he got past the wards. He’s the leader of the rebellion in both Heaven _and_ Hell.” Aziraphale felt like he couldn’t breathe. “Why didn’t I see this in time? I’ve failed you. I’ve failed everyone.”

Crowley grasped his shoulders and pulled him close. “This isn’t your fault.”

Aziraphale knew better. And worse, it was out of his hands now. The fight had begun. All Gabriel had to do was to kill Crowley and then there would be war. Aziraphale couldn’t protect Crowley in the fight, and a human would surely lose to an Archangel. Beez and Dagon wouldn’t be safe then, or any of the humans. Michael would have to step in to keep Hell from winning and millions of angels would die.

A group of angels appeared behind Gabriel now, armed with swords. These were the rebels from Heaven then. They took up a fighting arrangement before Lord Cornu’s demons, who looked terrified and betrayed and definitely ready to fight. 

But Beez didn’t take long to react to what had happened. They waved a hand and something very dark seemed to flow from them across the tarmac to the rebel demons. As it reached them, there was some screaming. And then a very quick silence as they fell dead on the pavement.

The watchers from Hell quieted quickly as Beez gave them an assessing look. “Anyone else?” they asked. 

There were no volunteers.

Michael looked no less angry than Beez and the rebel angels seemed not to be able to make up their minds as to what to do. After a moment, they rushed toward Michael, but she waved a hand and they fell too, heavy golden chains around their wrists and ankles pulling them to the ground. The watching angels fell silent as well.

Gabriel didn’t seem to care about any of his followers, whether occult or ethereal, and that was because he didn’t have to. The fight had begun. War would follow in any case, with both sides fully engaged.

Gabriel shook his shoulders a little and white wings sprang open behind him. “You were too soft,” he said to Michael. “Despite its cowardly Regent, Hell wants the war, and you didn’t even want us to defend ourselves. We will win this now, and they’ll never be a problem for us again.”

Aziraphale turned his attention to his charge. Crowley looked pale, but really no more nervous than he had been before. Crowley had spent his life knowing that bad luck followed him everywhere. He accepted this as he had everything else. And just for that, Aziraphale’s heart broke for him. For all he’d been put through and none of it his fault.

Aziraphale put his hands on Crowley’s face and guided him to look away from the madness and into his eyes. “Stay here,” Aziraphale instructed. _“Don’t_ step forward to accept the challenge. Gabriel will be a few more minutes posturing anyway.”

Aziraphale turned to Tracy. “Keep him here. On your life, Tracy.” Tracy wound her arms around her son and pulled him close.

Aziraphale took Father Layne by the arm and guided him away. “If you can hear Her,” he said quietly, “I am hoping that She listens to you.” He grasped the priest’s hand. “Pray with me, Father, please. I need a miracle.”

But Father Layne just smiled at him. “If I can hear Her— then I know that I’m only here this morning to do one thing, and that is to tell you that you don’t need me. You’re a very good Guardian Angel, Aziraphale. Not just to Crowley, but to me and to my flock and all of humanity, since the beginning. I know that She is with you.”

Aziraphale stared at him. “But I—” 

“To me She feels like the absence of doubt,” Father Layne told him. “To you, I think She might feel like love. Can you feel that now?”

Aziraphale looked back at Crowley, standing there on the tarmac in his mother’s arms. Aziraphale did love him, and Dagon and Beez as well, and the world beyond them. Aziraphale tried to relax and let that love lie heavy in him. Whatever certainty Father Layne described in his good deeds, Aziraphale didn’t feel. But if he had to _act_ purely on love— perhaps that he could do.

Aziraphale walked back to Crowley and took him in his arms. “It will be all right,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to Crowley’s cheek.

Crowley nodded. “I’m ready, angel.”

“I love you,” Aziraphale said, hoping Crowley could see how much, and then he ran his finger along Crowley’s forehead, and Crowley dropped unconscious into his mother’s arms.

Aziraphale stepped forward into the circle. Gabriel and Michael were still arguing, and Aziraphale ignored them. “I accept the challenge for Humanity,” he announced.

Everyone fell quiet, except for Tracy, who gave a little gasp. Gabriel stared at Aziraphale as if he was now certain that the angel had gone mad. It was probably a fair assessment.

“You aren’t a _human,”_ Gabriel sputtered.

“Oh, yes, that,” Aziraphale said. “If you could bear with me one moment, please.” He let his wings come forth onto the human plane, and his ethereal glow rose up around him. 

“I am Crowley’s Guardian Angel,” Aziraphale said. “And I would be failing in my duties if I allowed him to be hurt. So I ask a favor from our Heavenly Mother. Please, enable me to do my job. I ask— I ask to Fall. Not for sin, but for love. Not to fight this war, but to bring peace to us all. Not to become a demon but just to be a man who can take the place of the one he loves to keep him from harm.”

He looked at Gabriel. “I gave away my sword once to protect humanity. And now I give everything I have left: my Grace, my wings, my immortality. Please, Mother, I—”

It took forever, with Aziraphale standing there on the middle of the tarmac as if it were a cliff’s edge. And it took only a second. God said nothing, but Aziraphale heard Her clearly.

It was like a wind blew across him and suddenly Aziraphale was standing in a pile of white feathers that had once been his wings. He felt heavy and cold and more grateful to God than he’d ever been before. He noticed that Dagon was crying, and this time it was for him.

“Angels have pure souls,” Aziraphale told Gabriel, “though I am in doubt about yours. But I believe mine is intact. Therefore, I accept the challenge as Humanity’s representative.”

Gabriel shrugged. “Works for me.” And then there was a sword in his hand and he lunged toward Aziraphale.

Aziraphale blocked it with the sword he was suddenly holding. Gabriel growled in frustration. “You can’t interfere, Michael!”

While Michael protested, Dagon miracled a shield into Aziraphale’s hand as well, and then winked at him.

Aziraphale didn’t give Gabriel time to figure out who was helping him, or whether it was strictly legal. Gabriel was on the defensive soon enough, and Aziraphale felt a little thrill of pride. He _had_ been a warrior once. And somehow, it was coming back to him. Perhaps he could have given Crowley a little training after all.

Aziraphale and Gabriel circled each other on the tarmac, and it wasn’t long before Aziraphale managed to cut Gabriel on the arm. He ducked out of the way as the Archangel hissed and struck out at him. Aziraphale kicked out Gabriel’s legs and sent him falling hard onto the pavement. He was up in a second, though, and advancing. Aziraphale parried him for a while, but then he made the mistake of looking behind him, and found a sight that terrified him even more than Gabriel.

Dog was licking at Crowley’s face. Crowley was waking up.

Aziraphale was shocked enough by that to let Gabriel knock into him and send him down without an opening to get back up. Gabriel stood over him and lifted his sword. To Aziraphale’s surprise, the weapon burst into flame.

“Oh, yes, I have one of my own,” Gabriel said. “And I wasn’t stupid enough to give it away. Oh, Aziraphale, this feels good. I should have done this millennia ago. You were stronger than I thought you’d be, I give you that. But it doesn’t matter now.”

“Wait!” Crowley yelled. He was on his feet now and running to Aziraphale’s side. He looked angrier and more frightened than Aziraphale had ever seen him. “Hang on, wait, wait!” he cried.

Gabriel raised his eyebrows. “Yes?”

Crowley skidded to a stop. His mouth worked a little, and then he came out with, “Oh, I just wanted to say— it’s a lovely day out, don’t you think?”

Gabriel was clearly certain that Crowley was as mad as his former Guardian Angel. _“What?”_

“Well, I was just thinking,” Crowley rambled on, “It, um, I said once that we’d need a hell of a lot of good luck to fix this, didn’t I, angel, you remember. Problem is, of course, with me, there’s only bad luck. But you know, really, if there’s anything I know how to do, it’s how to make a bacon sandwich. So—” He grabbed hold of his t-shirt and pulled it off over his head.

Aziraphale appreciated the view, but he was quite as confused as Gabriel.

Crowley smiled at him. “Like I said, nice day, right?” He looked up at the clear blue sky. “THINK I’LL GO SUNBATHING!”

The effect was immediate. Everyone and everything was suddenly drenched in rain. Including the flaming sword, which was promptly doused.

Aziraphale stared at Crowley. “Get me that sword,” Crowley hissed. Aziraphale nodded. He rose quickly, taking advantage of Gabriel’s bewilderment, and shoved the Archangel back. He brought his shield down hard on Gabriel’s wrist and the sword fell from his grasp. Aziraphale kicked it toward Crowley, who picked it up with a triumphant cry. “Here I come!” he yelled.

The sword fell apart, pieces of it falling down silver with the rain.

“Well!” Crowley panted, looking proud. “Sword’s gone. So now—”

Aziraphale lunged forward, putting his blade at Gabriel’s throat. “Surrender!” he exclaimed.

There was quiet. Someone must have been irritated enough to use a miracle, because the rain slowed up and then stopped.

Gabriel didn’t surrender, though. He just laughed. “You complete idiot,” he said. “You gave up your best weapon against me already.”

Crowley saw it coming, and he pulled Aziraphale back as Gabriel rose up on his white wings, using a blast of power to send them stumbling away. “A sword is nothing to me,” Gabriel said. “And neither is a human.”

Aziraphale grasped at Crowley’s arm, trying to get in front of him. 

Tracy was suddenly in front of them both. “I demand,” she said, quite calmly, “that Anthony be given his horse.” Everyone stared at her. It didn’t seem to faze her. “Come on, now,” she said. “Anthony was given a horse days ago in replacement for his Guardian Angel. He doesn’t have a Guardian Angel now, so get his horse here!”

Gabriel made a frustrated noise. _“Anthony_ isn’t even in this fight!”

“Of course I am!” Crowley exclaimed. 

Aziraphale looked at him with growing dread. “No, you— that was the point, Crowley—” 

_“Aziraphale_ accepted the challenge,” Gabriel snapped.

“Yes, but it’s not his quarter birthday, is it?” Crowley demanded. “I was the one born under all the signs. So really, I think we’re both allowed into this fight.” He looked to Aziraphale. “Come on, angel. We can do this together. If you lose, it’s over for me anyway.”

“Well,” Aziraphale said hesitantly, “it, um— it _is_ an interesting theological question. The prophecy speaks of _the human with the pure soul,”_ Aziraphale said. “But there _are_ two of us now.”

“I don’t know why you are doing this,” Gabriel groaned. “It’s inevitable at this point—”

“It’s ineffable,” Crowley corrected him, catching Aziraphale’s hand in his own. “I’m in this fight, too, so give me my fucking horse.”

It was there a second later, as Michael snapped her fingers. A beautiful black horse, wearing a saddle this time.

“You ever done this?” Crowley asked Aziraphale, pulling his sodden shirt back on.

Aziraphale stared at him in horror. “What, ride a horse?”

“That’s the idea,” Tracy told him, catching hold of the horses’s reins. “Don’t worry, love, Anthony knows how to ride. Horses adore him. _All animals do,”_ she added, in a lower tone, with a significant look at her son.

This was clearly true, with the way the horse was nuzzling at Crowley’s hair. “Come on, angel,” Crowley said, and that was how Aziraphale found himself in front of Crowley on a horse, clinging desperately to its mane.

Crowley did something with his legs and the horse turned them to face Gabriel. “By the way, Aziraphale’s still twice the angel you are,” Crowley said. “Now let’s see if you can catch us.”

Aziraphale felt Crowley kick and the horse leaped up before taking off across the tarmac on a run.

It was uncomfortable. That was an understatement. Aziraphale wasn’t sure if he was still going to have any teeth or bones by the time he was allowed to get off of this creature, and he wasn’t going to be able to miracle himself any replacements.

Crowley had a hand wrapped around Aziraphale’s stomach, and he leaned in to talk into his ear. “Don’t worry, angel, we aren’t done for yet. My mom’s right, we just have to move this onto my territory.”

“And where is that?” Aziraphale demanded.

“Ah— well, we’ll know it when we get there,” Crowley said, without sounding terribly confident.

There was a flap of wings behind them and Aziraphale turned to see Gabriel coasting behind them with a smirk on his face, easily keeping pace. Crowley looked too and he groaned. “Oh, shit. Angel, we need your ace in the hole.”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure what that meant, but he was busy anyway, muttering a prayer. He skipped over Dagon and went straight to the bottom. 

_Beelzebub, princeps infernum. Hello, dear. Um, if I could ask a favor, please—_

Time seemed to slow for a second, and then everything shifted. Aziraphale was suddenly much more comfortable, sitting on a seat instead of a saddle. Crowley was beside him, looking bewildered and then awed as he gazed at the black car surrounding them. “This is a Bentley,” he said. “Oh, Dagon’s got style.”

“Beelzebub,” Aziraphale corrected him, aware that they were still hurtling down the street. “Crowley, you’re in the driver’s seat.”

“I am!” Crowley cried with delight.

“You don’t know how to drive!” Aziraphale reminded him, with considerably less excitement.

Crowley put his hands on the steering wheel and grinned. “Well, I’m sure the car knows.” 

“How would the car know how to drive?”

“Cause it’s not really a car, is it? It’s a horse. Car would fall apart otherwise, with me in it. Angel, this is the most incredible—”

“How does a horse know how to drive?!” Aziraphale shouted. “Crowley, we’re coming up to a turn, Crowley—”

The car took the curve easily on its own, and Crowley literally squealed with joy. 

Aziraphale just braced himself carefully on the dashboard and turned around. Gabriel was falling behind. “Where are we going?” Aziraphale asked.

“Nearest place that I can win a popularity contest.”

That turned out to be a meadow, just outside of Tadfield. Crowley yelled, “Whoa!” and the car slowed obediently, pulling over to the side of the road. While Crowley put a hand on the dash and spoke sweetly to it, Aziraphale threw himself out of the car. He heard a barking noise and was surprised to see Dog pop up in the backseat, probably also courtesy of Beelzebub. Aziraphale opened the door to let him out and he bounded out into the field.

“Gabriel will be here in a moment,” Aziraphale said, as Crowley climbed out of the car, still petting it.

Crowley and Aziraphale were both still soaking wet, clothes and hair a mess. “You didn’t have to do this,” Crowley said, pushing his sunglasses up into his sodden hair. “Angel— you gave everything up.”

“We’ve lost nothing yet,” Aziraphale said, taking his hands in his own. “The world is still here and so are you.”

Crowley kissed him. He took longer than he should have with it, probably, but Aziraphale wasn’t going to complain. Crowley pushed Aziraphale up against the car and kissed him long enough that Aziraphale started to feel strong again, in just the same way he had when he was an angel. Maybe stronger, in some ways.

They kept an anxious look on the sky as they moved out into the meadow. Crowley dropped down on his rear in the grass and let his legs spread out gracelessly. Aziraphale sat beside him. Dog trotted around, investigating the meadow and the stream running through it. 

It was actually quite pleasant to sit in the grass and feel the sun drying their clothes. Aziraphale had never felt that before, always miracling himself comfortable instead of letting it happen slowly. He sat with his love and heard Dog start to bark, and then watched Gabriel come closer, until the Archangel landed in the field.

“Run out of petrol?” he asked. “Or does that thing take oats?”

“My horse has far more style than you’ll ever have,” Crowley said, giving the Bentley a fond look. “You know what, _Aziraphale_ has more style than you’ll ever have and he just figured out what century it is.”

“What is the point of this?” Gabriel asked.

Crowley put out a finger and beckoned him closer. Gabriel stalked forward just as a robin flew down and landed on Crowley’s shoulder. And it wasn’t alone. Sitting on the ground, Aziraphale could feel the earth moving all around them.

“Aziraphale said the pure soul thing would help me, and I think he’s right. You see, I don’t want the Earth destroyed,” Crowley said. “And it's not just me, as it turns out. Lots of other creatures live here too, and they’d like to go on living.”

“What, like a bird?” Gabriel asked. He raised a hand and made a flicking motion with his fingers. The robin tumbled off of Crowley’s shoulder. Aziraphale was quick enough to catch it, but it lay motionless in his hands.

“Oh,” said Crowley, in a low voice. “I would not have done that.”

The meadow came alive. Birds swooped toward Gabriel’s head, and he ducked, only to find that his shoes and pants were being climbed by squirrels and mice. Gabriel struggled away, and unfurled his wings. But before he could take off, he gave a sudden scream of pain.

Aziraphale smiled at him. “Oh, I see you’ve met our dog,” he said, as Gabriel turned frantically to see a hell hound with its teeth sunk into his wing. White feathers fell to the ground, sticky with golden blood. Gabriel fell too, and animals ran up onto his chest and shoulders.

He looked at Crowley and Aziraphale, and his eyes went even wider with fright and pain. 

“Did you know,” Crowley said, holding out his arm while two large brown snakes crawled along it, “that England has a native venomous snake? The common European adder. Lovely, aren’t they? Now, most people are fine with bites from these beauties. But of course, most people only get bitten once.”

Aziraphale watched Gabriel struggle to bring his fingers together and snap. Nothing happened. Gabriel tried it again and again, with the same result.

Crowley just laughed. “Don’t fight it, Gabe. Nothing ever goes wrong for me with animals. It’s as sure as the bad luck curse is.”

“Yield,” Aziraphale said quietly. “Gabriel, it’s over.”

“Can’t yield,” Gabriel growled. “The fight is to the death, you know that.”

Crowley stared at him. “Are you _literally_ too stupid to live?”

The Bentley kindly took them back to the tarmac, although Aziraphale was unhappy to discover that it still liked to race at full speed. Gabriel lay on the back seat with Dog keeping watch. The Archangel wasn’t in the shape to do much anyway, with his wing mangled.

They were received with great cheers and embraces from Tracy (who said _I told you so_ ) and Father Layne, who also seemed unsurprised but kept it to himself.

Crowley walked into the center of the tarmac, holding Aziraphale’s hand. “We claim victory over Heaven,” he said. “And we choose not to have the war. Let there be peace on Earth and everywhere else.”

Aziraphale knew the proud feeling that he’d seen on Dagon’s face then.

“You should Fall for this,” Michael told Gabriel as he knelt on the pavement. The hoards of angels and demons still watching were quiet.

Beez shook their head. They had miracled up a throne for themself while they waited, and Dagon was perched in their lap, with her feet hanging over the arm of it. Apparently the time for decorum had passed. “I won’t take him in Hell,” Beez said. “He’s caused too much trouble.”

Michael sighed. “We’ll find a place to keep him locked up then.” She snapped her fingers and Gabriel disappeared. “It was nice to meet you, Crowley,” she said. “And Aziraphale— we’ll miss you.”

Aziraphale smiled at her. “I’ll miss you, too, Michael.”

“Not for long, though,” Dagon cut in. “Mortals with pure souls. Almost have to be made angels after they pass on. Don’t you think, Michael?”

“Me as an angel?” Crowley exclaimed.

Dagon grinned at him. “Oh, I’ll tempt you to our side, darling, don’t you worry.”

Michael just nodded. “Sounds fine. If you’ll excuse me, it’s been a long day.” With that, she disappeared, along with the watching angels.

Beez waved a hand to vanish the gallery of demons. “Did you want me to remove it?” they asked Crowley, still sounding bored.

Crowley looked at them in confusion. “Remove what?”

“The curse. Bad luck thing. Bacon or something, Dagon said.”

“You can remove it?” Crowley demanded. “You can just—”

“You might have mentioned that,” Aziraphale pointed out.

“Didn’t I?”

“No, because that wouldn’t have been bad luck,” Aziraphale sighed.

But Crowley shook his head. “Leave it.” As Aziraphale looked at him in surprise, he said, “Lived with it all my life. I don’t think I’d know what to do without it. As long as you don’t mind it, angel. You won’t be able to snap your fingers and fix things now.”

“It’s your curse,” Aziraphale said. “You can choose whatever seems best to you. Oh, but speaking of my being different—” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the robin that Gabriel had slain. “I couldn’t leave it,” Aziraphale said. “Didn’t seem right. Dagon, could you—” He stopped as the bird gave a twitch in his hand. 

Crowley peered over Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Angel, your hand’s glowing.”

The bird flapped its wings and took off from Aziraphale’s hand. “I’m not an angel,” Aziraphale said. “I— I can feel it. I don’t know why—”

Father Layne smiled. “Looks like Someone didn’t entirely let you quit your job, Aziraphale. I guess She didn't want Earth to lose its greatest protector.”

Beez and Dagon were good enough to miracle Tracy and Father Layne home, after everyone said their goodbyes. Dagon promised to bring her spouse by the shelter to meet the Great Dane. Crowley and Aziraphale were left standing on the tarmac with Dog and the Bentley. 

“I’m sorry I knocked you out,” Aziraphale said. “I just couldn’t think of any other way—”

“It all worked out, didn’t it?” Crowley asked.

“Yes, with the two of us together.”

“Three of us,” Crowley said, scratching Dog behind the ears. “Four, I guess, with the Bentley. And then all the animals in the meadow—” Crowley pushed up his sunglasses to meet Aziraphale’s eyes, and he was smiling. “Will you stay with me?” he asked softly. “With us? The rest of a human life and then maybe eternity? Not as my Guardian. Just as my angel?”

Aziraphale kissed him. This kiss took a while too, but there really was endless time for it now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda want to write the Dagon/Beez falling in love story real quick, so might do that.
> 
> Thank you so much for all your wonderful comments, my friends! I hope you enjoyed the ending! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are so appreciated! And please feel free to check out my other works.  
> I am now taking fic requests for original characters!  
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